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George  IVashington  Flowers 
Memorial  Collection 

DIKF.  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 


ESTABLISH  ED  BY  THE 

FAMILY  OF 

rOl.ONKI.    Kl.OWl.RS 


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tlio  acticin 


ACARIA;     • 


OR, 


ALTARS    OF    SACRIFICE. 


BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF  "  BEULAH." 


"  Wo  bn70  al'i  to  bo  iaii  upon  an  altar;  we  hayo  all,  &s  it  were,  to  bo  ju..j-ictc-l  to  tho  a?ti;>B 

of  fire." — Meltit.l. 


RICHMONI) ': 

WEST  &  JOHNSTON,  Ur,  MAIN  STKHET. 

1864. 


UTARS  &  CoORWELL,  PRIXTBBS, 
COLCMDIA,  S.  C. 


#2  5a> 


TO  TUE 

ARMY  OF  THE  SOUTEERN  CONFEDERACY, 

:0     i:.\VK     DKLIA'EUED    TUK    SoUTII    FJJOM    DESl'OTISM,    AND    WHO    HAVK    WON'    I'OR 
CrFN-VRATIOXS   YKT   UNBORN   TUK    TKECIOUS   GUKIJOOX    OK 
CONSTITUTIONAT.   Rk PUBLICAN    LiBEKTV: 

TO    THIS    VAST    LlilCMOJN    OF    HONOR, 

AVHKTHKR    LIMIMNG    ON    CRUTCHKS    THROUGH 

THE    LAND   THEY   HAVE   SAVED    AND    IMMORTALIZED, 

OR   SURVIVING    UNINJURED   TO    SHARE   THE   BLESSINGS   THEIR 

v;NirXAMPLED   HEltOISM   BOUGHT,   OU    SLEEPING    DREAMLESs?LY   IN   XAMI.I.KSa 

MART V:;-(;n AYES    on    HALLOAYED    BATTLE-FIELDS    AVUOSK  • 

HISTORIC   MEMORY   SHALL   rEKISlI    ONLY   WITH 
THE    UE'MNANTS    OK    OUR    LANGUAGE, 
THESE   PAGES   ARIC 

(i  ;ATEFUi.LY  AND  REVERENTLY  DEDICATED 

•     BY  ONE   WHO,   ALTHOUGH   DEBARKED    FROM    THE 

fiANOEUS    AND    DEATHLESS    GLORY    OF    THE    "TENTED    IMEI,D," 

WOULD    FAIN    OFFER    A    WOMAN'S    INADEQUATE    TRIBUTE    TO    TIIK   NORI.IC 

PATRIOTISM   AND   SUBLIME   SELF-ABNEGATION   OF    III'.R 

DEAR    AND    DEVOtED   COUNTRYMEN. 


ERRAT'A. 

Page  7,  first  column,  Ijxst  Hue— rFor ''knew"  read  '•  hnon-." 
Page  12,  first  column,  fourth  lino — For  "queen"  read  "queer." 
Fagc  29,  first  column,  thirty-second  line — For  "  back  "  read  "brink." 
Page  ."7,  first  column,  forty-fifth  lino — For  "  Jlivbarda"  rc.a<l  "  Kabarda." 
Pr>gc  4S,  first  column,  fifty-cigbtli  line — For  "pomps"  road  "pomp." 
P.igo  52,  second  column,  nineteenth  line — For  "having  premonition  " 

i-ead  "  having  given  premonition." 
Page  54,  second  column,  fourth  line  from  bottom — For  "  Jolo"  rc.-d  "  lole." 
Page  55,  t;cco!jd  column,  thirty-third  lino — For  "willingly  "  read  "  wittingly.' 
P.%ge  57,  first  cohimn,  fifteenth  line — For  " cniMque"  read  " cujutqite." 
Page  73,  second  column,  third  line — For  "prizes"  read  "  friezes." 
P;ige  80,  first  column,  fifty-fourth  line — For  "  aleyon  "  rcjd  "Alcyone." 
T;»ge  95,  ?.rst  column,  thirty-sixth  lino — For  "  llhdian  "  read  "  llholian."' 
Piige  111,  second  column,  forty-eighth  lino— For  "drippling"  read  "  if  rip  ping 


M  A  C  A  R  I  A. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Tlie.  toM-n-clock  was  on  tlic  last  stroke  of 
twelve,  the  solitary  candle  measured  but  two 
inches  from  its  socket,  and,  as  the  summer 
wind  rushed  through  the  half-closed  shutters, 
the  melted  tallow  dripped  slowly  into  ^e 
brightly-burnished  brazen  candlestick.  The 
flickering  light  fell  upon  grim  battalions  of 
figures  marshalled  on  the  long,  blue -lined 
pages  of  a  ledger,  and  flashed  fitfully  on  the 
face  of  the  accountant,  as  he  bent  over  his 
work.  In  these  latter  days  uf  physical  degen- 
eration, ftich  athletic  frames  as  his  are  rarely 
seen  among  the  youth  of  our  land.  Sixteen 
years  growth  had  given  liim  unusual  height 
and  remarkable  breadth  of  chest,  and  it  was 
diflicult  to  realize  that  the,  stature  of  manhood 
had  been  attained  by  a  mere  boy  in  years.  A 
gray  suit  (evidently  home  rna<le),  of  rather 
coarse  texture,  bespoke  jioverty ;  and,  owing 
to  the  oppressive  heat  of  the  atmosphere,  the 
coat  was  thrown  partially  off.  He  wore  no 
vest,  and  the  loosely -tied  black  ribboh  suf- 
fered the  snowy  white,  collar  to  fall  away 
from  the  throat  and  expose  its  well-turned 
outline.  The  head  Avas  large,  but  faultlessly 
proportioned,  and  the  thick  black  hair,  cut 
short  and  clinging  to  the  temples,  added  to  its 
massiveness.  The  lofty  forehead,  white  and 
smooth,  the  somewhat  heavy  brows  matching 
the  hue  of  the  hair,  tlip  straight,  finely-formed 
nose  with  its  delicate  but  clearly-defined  nos- 
tril, and  fell,  firm  lips  unshaded  by  mustache, 
combined  to  render  the  face  one  of  uncommon 
beauty.  Yet,  as  he  sat  absorbed  by  his  fig- 
ures, there  was  nothing  pVepossessing  or  win- 
ning in  his  appearance,  for  though  you  could 
not  carp  at  the  moulding  of  his  features,  you 
luvoluntarily  shrank  from  the  prematurely 
grave,  nay,  austere  expression  which  seemed 
habitual  to  them.  He  looked  just  what  he 
was,  youthful  in  months  and  years,  but  old  in 
trials,  sorrows,  and  labors,  and  to  one  who 
anilvze  1  bis  countenance,  the  conviction  was 
inevitable  that  his  will  was  gigantic,  his  am- 
bition unbounded,  his  intellect  wonderfully 
acute  and  powerful.  It  is  always  sad  to  re- 
mark in  young  faces  the  absence  of  that 
beaming  enthusiasm  which  oidy  a  joyous 
heart  imparts,  and  thougii  in '  this  instance 
there  was  nothing  dark  or  sinister,  you  couW 
not  fail  to  be  awed  by  the  cold,  dauntless  res- 


olution which  said  so  plainly:  "I  struggle, 
and  shall'  conquer.  I  shall  mount,  though  the 
world  defy  mo."  Although  he  had  labored 
sinc^  daAvn,  there  was  no  drooping  of  the 
muscular  frame,  no  symptom  of  fatigue,  save 
in  the  absolute  colorlessness  of  his  face.  Pirm 
a,s  some  brazen  monument  on  its  pedestal,  he 
sat  aud  worked  on,  one  hand  wielding  the 
pen,  the  other  holding  down  the  leaves  which 
fluttered,  now  and  then,  as  the  breeze  passed 
over  them. 

"  Russell,  do  you  know  it  is  midnight?" 
He  fro^^ned,  and  answered  without  looking 

"  Yes." 

*'  How  much  longer  will  yoii  sit  up  ?" 

"  Till  I  finish  my  work." 

The  speaker"  stood  on  the  thresliold,  leaning 
against  the  door-facing,  and,  after  waiting  a 
few  moments,  softly  crossed  the  roorfi  and  pat 
her  hand  on  the  back  of  his  chair.  She  -was 
two  years  his  junior,  and  though  evidently 
the  victim  of  recent  and  severe  illness,  even 
in  her  feebleness  she  was  singularly  like  hiin. 
Her  presence  seemed  to  annoy  him,  for  he 
turned  round,  and  said  hastily :  "  Elcctra,  go 
to  bed.     I  told  you  good -night  three  hoiin 

ago-" 

She  stood  still,  but  silent. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?" 
"  Nothing." 

He  wrote  on  for  some  ten  minutes  longer, 
then  closed  the  ledger  and  put  it  aside.  The 
candle  had  burned  low ;  h^  took  a  fresh  one 
from  the  drawer  of  the  table,  and,  after  light- 
ing it,  drew  a  Latin  dictionary  near  to  hun, 
opened  a  worn  copy  of  Horace,  and  began  to 
study.  Quiet  as  his  own  shadow  stood  the 
fragile  girl  behind  his  chair,  but  as  she  watch- 
ed him  a  heavy  sigh  escaped  her.  Once  more 
he  looked  up,  with  a  finger  still  in  the  diction- 
ary, and  asked  impatiently: 

"  Why  on  earth  don't  you  go  to  sleep?"    , 
"  I  can't  .sleep  ;  I  have  tried  my  Iwst." 
"Arc  you  si'K  again,  my  poor*  little  cousin?" 
He  stretched  out  his  arm,  and  drew  her  (^oae 
to  him. 

"  No ;  but  I  know  you  arc  up,  hard  at  work, 
and  it  keeps  me  awake.  If  you  would  only 
let  me  help  you." 

"  But  you  can't  help  me;  I  have  told  yon 
so  time  and  again,  lou  only  interrupt  aad 
hinder  me." 


MACARIA. 


She  colored, and  bit  her  lip;  then  answered 
•orrowfully : 

"  If  I  thought  I  ahould  be  •vreak  and  sickly 
all  my  life,  1  would  rather  die  at  once,  and 
burdfn  you  and  auntie  no  Innfier." 

"Electra,  who- told  you  that  you  burdened 
me  ?" 

"  Oh,  Russell !  don't  I  know  how  hard  you 
have  to  work  ;  and  how  diflirult  it  is  for  you 
to  got  even  bread  and  clotho.";.  Don't  I  sec 
how  auntie  labors  day  r.flor  day,  and  month 
after  month  ?  You  are  pood  and  kind,  but 
does  that  prevent  my  foelin<;  the  truth,  that 
vo"  fire  workinjT  for  mc  too  ?  If  I  could  only 
help  you  in  .<»omc  way."  She  kn«'U  down  by 
his  chair  and  leaned  her  head  nn  his  kneo, 
holding  his  hands  between  botli  hers. 

"  Eleitra,  you  do  help  mc  ;  all  day  long 
when  I  am  at  the  store  your  face  haunts  me, 
strengthens  me;  I  feel  that  I  am  striving  to 
give  you  comforts,  and  when  at  night  you 
meet  mc  at  the  gate,  I  am  repaid  for  all  I 
have  done.  You  must  put  this  idea  out  of 
your  head,  little  one ;  it  is  altogether  a  mistake. 
Do  you  hear  what  I  say?  Get  up,  and  go  to 
ilc^p  like  a  good  child,  or  you  will  have  an- 
other \vrct<hed  headache  to-morrow,  and  ran't 
bring  me  my  lunch." 

He  lifted  her  from  the  floor,  and  kissed  her 
hastily.  She  raised  her  arms  as  if  to  w^nd 
them  about  his  neck,  but  his  grave  face  gave 
her  no  encouragement,  and  turning  away  she 
retired  to  her  room,  with  hot  tears  rolling  over-l 
her  cheeks.  Russell  had  scarcely  read  half  a 
dozen  lines  after  his  cousin's  departure  when 
a  soft  hand  swept  back  the  locks  of  hair  on 
his  forehead,  and  wiped  away  the  heavy  <lrop8 
tJiat  moistened  them. 

"My  son,  you  promised  me  you  would  not 
iit  up  late  tonight." 

"Well,  mother,  I  have  almost  finished.  Re- 
member the  nights  are  very  short  now,  and 
twelve  o'clock  comes  early." 

"The  better  rea«>n  that  you  should  not  be 
up  ho  fate.  My  son,  I  am  afraid  you  will  ruin 
jour  health  by  this  unremitting  application." 

"  Why — look  at  me.  I  am  as  strong  as  an 
athlete  of  old."  He  shook  his  limVw  and  smiled, 
proud  of  hi.-i  great  physical  strength. 

"True,  Russell,  but,  robust  as  you  are,  you 
can  not  stand  such  toil  without  detriment  Put 
up  jour  books." 

"Not  yet;  I  have  more  laid  out,  and  you 
know  I  invariably  finish  all  I  set  apart  to  do. 
But,  mother,  your  hand  is  hot;  you  are  not 
well."  He  rairied  the  thin  hand,  and  pressed 
it  to  his  lips. 

"A  mere  headache,  nothing  more.  Mr. 
Clark  was  here  to-day;  he  is  very  impatient 
about  the  rent;  I  told  him  we  were  doing  all 
we  could,  and  thought  that  by  September  we 
should  be  able  to  pay  the  whole.  He  spoke 
of  going  to  sea  you,  which  I  urged  him  not 
to  do,  as  you  were  exerting  yourself  to  the 
utmost."  She  scanned  his  face  while  she  spoke, 


and  noted  the  compression  of  his  mouth.  He 
knew  she  watched  him,  and  answered  with  a 
forced  smile:  "  Y'^e.--,  he  came  to  the  store  this 
morning.  I  told  him  we  had  been  very  un- 
fortunate this  year  in  losing  our  only  servant; 
and  that  sickness  had  torced  us  to  incur  more 
expense  than  usual.  However,  I  drew  fifty 
dollars,  and  paid  him  all  I  eovdd.  True,  1 
anticipated  my  dues,  but  Mr.  Watson  gave  rae 
permission.  So  for  the  present  you  need  not 
worry  about  rent." 

"  \\'hat  is  the  amount  of  that  erocery  bill 
you  would  not  let  me  sec  last  week?" 

"^ly  dear  mother,  do  not  trouble  yourself 
with  lliese  little  matters;  the  grocery  bill  will 
very  soon  be  paid.  I  have  arranged  with  Mr. 
Hill  to  keep  his  books  at  night,  and  therefore 
you  may  be  easy.  Trust  all  to  me.  mother; 
only  take  cfue  of  your  dear  self,  and  I  ask  no 
more." 

"  Oh,  Russell !  my  son,  my  son  !" 

She  had  drawn  a  chair  near  him.  and  now 
laid  her  head  on  his  "shouMer,  while  tears 
dropjx'd  on  his  hand.  lie  had  not  seen  her 
so  unnerved  for  years,  and  as  he  looked  down 
on  her  grief- stained,  yet  resigned  face,  his 
countenance  underwent  a  marvellous  change; 
and,  folding  his  arms  .'ibout  her,  he  kissed  her 
pale,  thin  cheek  repeatedly. 

"Mother,  it  is  not  like  you  to  repine  in  this 
way;  you  who  have  suffered  and  endured  so 
niueh  must  not  despond,  when,  alter  a  long, 
starless  night  the  day  begins  to  dawn." 

"I  fear  'it  dawns  in  clouds,  and  heralds  only 
storms.'  For  myself  I  care  not,  but  for  you, 
Russell — my  pride,  my  only  hope,  my  brave 
boy  I  it  is  for  you  that  I  sulTer.  I  have  been 
thinking  to-night  that  this  is  a  doomed  place 
for  you,  and  that  if  we  could  only  save  money 
enough  to  go  to  California,  you  might  take 
the  position  vou  merit:  lor  there  none  woold 
know  of  the  blight  which  fell  upon  you;  none 
could  look  on  your  brow  and  dream  it  seemed 
sullied.  Here  you  have  such  bitter  prejudice 
to  combat;  such  gross  Injustice  heaped  upon 
you." 

lie  lifted  his  mother's  head  from  his  bosom 
and  rose,  with  a  haughty,  defiant  Smile  on  hia 
lip. 

"Not  so;  I  will  stay  here,  and  live  down 
their  hate.  Mark  me,  mother,  I  will,  live  it 
down,  so  surely  as  I  am  Russell  Aubrey,  the 

despised  son  of  a Let  them  taunt  and 

sneer!  let  them  rake  up  the  smouldering  ashes 
of  the  miserable  past,  to  fling  in  my  face  and 
blind  me ;  let  them,  and  welcome !  I  will  gather 
up  these  same  ashes,  diy  and  bitter,  and  hide 
them  with  sacred  zeal  in  a  golden  urn;  and  I 
will  wreathe  it  with  ehaplcts  that  never  die. 
Aye!  the  Thcenix  lies  now  in  dust,  but  one 
day  the  name  of  Aubrey  will  rise  in  more 
than  pristine  glory;  and  mine  be  the  hand  to 
resurrect  its  ancient  splendor.  ^  Mens  cuj tu- 
que is  eat  quisqueJ'  MenzikofT,  who  ruled  the 
councils  of  the  Kremlin  in  its  palmiest  days, 


MACARIA. 


once  sold  pies  for  a  living  in  the  streets  of 
Moscow.  ^  Mens  cuj usque  is  est  qnisque!'  I 
will  owe  no  man  tlianks;  none  shall  point  to 
me  and  say,  'He  was  drowning  in  the  black, 
seething  gulf  of  social  prejudice,  r.nd  I  heltl 
out  a  finger,  and  clinging  to  it  he  lived.'  Not 
so !  dollar  for  dollar,  service  for  service,  I  will 
pay  as  I  rise.  I  scorn  to  ask  favors,  I  am  glad 
none  are  tendered  me.  I  have  a  grim  satis- 
faction in  knowing  that  I  owe  no  human  being 
a  kindness,  save  you,  my  precious  mother. 
Go  to  California!  not  I!  not  I.  In  this  state 
will  I  work  and  conquer;  here,  right  here,  I 
will  plant  my  feet  upon  the  necks  of  those 
that  now  strive  to  grind  me  to  the  dust.  I 
swore  it  over  my  father's  coffin !  I  tell  you, 
mother,  I  will  trample  out  the  stigma,  for, 
tliank  God!  'there  is  no  free -trade  measure 
which  will  ever  lower  the  price  of  brains.'" 

"  Husli,  Russell,  you  must  subdue  your  fierce 
temper;  you  must!  you  must!  rememlier  it  was 
this  ungovernable  ragc'which  brought  disgrace 
upon  your  young,  innocent  head.  Oh!  it 
grieves  me,  my  son,  to  see  how  bitter  you 
nave  grown;  it  wrings  my  heart  to  hear  you 
challenge  fate,  as  you  so  often  do.  Once  you 
were  gentle  and  forgiving;  now  scorn  and  de- 
fiance rule  you."  , 

"  I  am  not  fierce,  I  am  not  in  a  rage.  Lay 
your  hand  on  my  temples — here  on  my  wrist ; 
count  the  pulse,  slow  and  steady,  mother,  as 
your  own.  I  am  not  vindictive;  ain  no  Indian 
to  boar  about  a  secret  revenge,  ready  to  con- 
summate it  at  the  first  propitious  moment.  If 
I  should  meet  the  judge  and  jury  who  doomed 
my  father  to  the  gallows,  I  think  I  would  serve 
them  if  they  needed  aid.  But  I  am  proud;  I 
inherited  my  nature;  I  writhe,  yes,  mother, 
writhe  under  the  treatment  I  constantly  re- 
ceive, r defy  fate?  Well,  suppose  I  do :  she 
has  done  her  worst.  I  have  no  quarrel  with 
her  for  the  past ;  but  I  will  conquer  her  in  the 
future.  I  am  not  bitter;  would  I  not  give  my 
life  for  you  ?  Are  you  not  dearer  tq  me  than 
my  own  soul  ?  Take  back  your  words,  they 
hurt  me ;  don't  tell  me  that  I  grieve  you, 
mother." 

His  voice  faltered  an  instant,  and  he  put 
his  arms  tenderly  rounfl  the  drooping  form. 

•'  We  have  troubles  enough,  my  son,  with- 
out dwelling  upon  wiiat  is  past  and  irremedi- 
able. So  long  as  you  seem  cheerful,  I  am 
content.  I  know  that  Cod  will  not  lay  more 
on  me  than  I  can  bear ;  •  as  my  day,  so  shall 
my  strength  be.*  Thy  will  be  done,  oh  !  my 
God." 

There  was  a  briefpause,  and  Russell  Aubrey 
passed  his  hand  oiAhis  eyes  and  dashed  otF 
a  tear.  His  mothfl^atched  him,  and  said, 
cautiously :  ^fw 

"  Have  you  notic^  that  my  eyes  are  rapid- 
ly growing  woree  ?" 

'*  Yes,  mother,  I  hftvi^en  anxious  for  some 
weeks."  ™ 

"  You  knew  it  all,  then  V" 


"Yes,  mother." 

"  I  shall  not  murmur ;  I  have  become  re- 
signed at  last ;  though  for  many  weeks  I  have 
wrestled  for  strength,  for  patience.  It  was  so 
e.xceedingly  bitter  to  know  ihat  the  time  drew 
near  when  I  should  see  you  no  more ;  to  feel 
that  I  should  stretch  out  my  hands  to  you,  and 
lean  on  you,  and  yet  look  no  longer  on  the 
dear  face  of  my  ghild,  my  boy,  my  all.  But 
my  prayers  were  heard ;  the  sting  has  paissed 
away,  and  I  am  resigned.  I  am  glad  we  have 
spoken  of  it;  now  my  mind  is  calmer,  and  I 
can  sleep.     Good-night,  my  son." 

She  pressed  the  customary  good-night  kiss 
on  his  lips,  and  left  him.  He  closed  the  dic- 
tionary, leaned  his  elbOw  on  the  table,  and 
rested  his  head  on  his  hand.  His  piercing 
black  eyes  were  fixed  gloomily  On  the  floor, 
and  now  and  then  his  broad  chest  heaved  as 
dark  and  jiainful  thoughts  crowded  up. 

]Mrs.  Aubrey  was  the  only  daughter  of 
wealthy  and  ambitious  parents,  who  refused 
to  sanction  her  marriage  with  the  object  of 
her  choice ;  and  threatened  to  disinherit  her 
if  she  persisted  in  her  obstinate  course.  Mr. 
Aubrey  was  poor,  but  honest,  hiixhly  cultivat- 
ed, and,  in  every  sense  of  that  much-abused 
word,  a  gentleman.  His  poverty  was  not  to 
be  forgiven,  however,  and  when  the  daughter 
left  her  father's  roof,  and  wedded  the  maa 
whom  her  parents  detested,  tlie  die  was  cast ; 
she  was  banished  for  ever  from  a  home  <^ 
affluence,  and  found  that  she  had  indeed  for- 
feited her  Ibrtune.  For  this  she  wa.«  prepar- 
ed, and  bore  it  bravely ;  but  ere  long  severer 
trials  came  upon  her.  Unfortunately,  her 
husband's  temper  was  fierce  and  ungovern- 
able ;  and  pecuniary  embarrassments  rarely 
have  the  effect  of  sweetening  such.  He  re- 
moved to  an  inland  town,  and  embarked  in 
mercantile  pursuits;  but  misfortune  followed 
him,  and  reverses  came  thick  and  fast.  One 
miserable  day  when  from  early  morning  every- 
thing had  gone  wrong,  an  importunate  cred-  | 
itor,  of  wealth  and  great  influence  in  the 
community,  chafed  at  Mr.  Aubrey's  tardiness 
in  repaying  some  trifling  sum,  proceeded  to 
taunt  and  insult  him  most  unwisely.  Stung 
to  madness,  the  wretched  man  resented  the 
insults ;  a  struggle  ensued,  and  at  its  close  Mr. 
Aubrey  stood  over  the  corpse  of  the  creditor. 
There  was  no  mode  of  escape,  and  the  arm  of 
the  law  consigned  him  to  prison.  During  the 
tedious  weeks  that  elapsed  before  the  trial  his 
devoted  wife,  strove  to  cheer  and  encourage 
him  by  every  effort  which  one  human  being 
can  make  for  another.  Russell  was  about 
eleven  years  of  age,  and,  boy  though  he  was, 
realizeii  most  fully  the  horrors  of  his  parent's 
situation.  The  days  of  the  trial  came  at  la.'rt; 
but  he  had  surrendered  him.self  to  the  demon 
Rage,  had  taken  the  life  of  a  fellow-creature; 
what  could  legal  skill  accomplish?  The  afl'air 
produced  great  and  continued  e-xcitement ; 
the  murdered  man  had  been  exceedingly  pop- 


MACARIA. 


ular,  and  the  sj-nipatbios  of  the  citizens  were  I  scrupulous  honesty,  still  his  nafrow  mind  and 
enlisted  in  iK^haH  of  liis  family.  Although  penurious  habits  stranded  every  generous  im- 
clearly  a  case  of  manslaughter  only,  the  vio-  pulsi?,  and,  without  being  absolutely  cruel  or 
lent  prejudice  of  the  community  and  the  ex-  unprim-ipled,  he  contrived  to  gall  the  boy's 
ertions  of  influential  frit-nds  so  hix^sed  the  I  proud  sjjirit  an<l  render  his  position  one  of 
jury  that,  to  the  astonishment  of  the  counsel  almost  pur<j;atorial  severity.  The  machinery 
on  both  sides,  the  cry  of  '*  blood  for  blood  "  of  human  wdl  is  occult  and'  complicated ;  very 
w*nt  out  from  that  crowded  court-room,  and  in  few  rigidly  analyze  their  actions  and  discern 
defiance  of  precedent.  Mr.  Aubrey  was  un-  I  the  motives  that  impel  them,  and  if  any  one 
justly  sentenced  to  be  hung.     When  the  ver-  i  had  told   .lacob  Wat.son   that  envy   wa.s   the 


€i>ct  was  known,  llusscll  placed  his  insensible 
mother  on  a  couch  from  which  it  .seemed  prob- 
able she  would  never  rii^e.  But  there  is  an 
RFtonishing  amount  of  endurance  in  even  a 
feeble  "womaii's  frame,  and  after  a  time  she 


fieeri't  .spring  which  prompted  his  unfriendly 
course  toward  his  young  clerk  he  would  prob- 
ably have  indignantly  denied  the  accusation. 
The  blessingof  an  education  had  been  with- 
held from  him;  he  grew  up  illiterate  and  de- 


went  about  her  house  once  more,  doing  her  ^  void  of  refinement;  lortune  favoreil  him,  he 
■duty  to  her  chihl  and  learning  to  "  .sulVer  and  ]  amassed  wealth,  and  determined  that  hia  ehil- 
•nrow  strong."  Fate  had  ordained,  however,  !  dren  .should  enjoy  every  advantage  which 
that  Russell's  father  should  not  die  upon  the  ]  money  could  command.     His  eldest  son  was 


gallows ;  and  soon  after  the  verdict  was  pro 
nonneed,  when  all  Mr.s.  Aubrey '.s  eflbrts  to 
procure  a  pnrdon  had  proved  unavailing,  the 


just  KusseU's  age,  had  been  sent  to  various 
sclionld  from  his  infancy,  was  imlolent,  self-in- 
dul^rent,  and   tliorouslilv  dissipated.     Having 


proud  and  desj)erale  man,  in  the  solitude  of  his  j  been  a  second  time  expelled  from  school  for 
cell,  with  no  eve  b-it  Jehovah's  to  witness  the  j  most  disgraceful  misdemeanors,  he  lounged 
awful  deed,  tlie  consummation  of  his  wtjoj-,  '  away  his  time  about  the  store  or  pa.-(sed  it  still 
took  his  own  life  —  with  the  aid  of  a  laiy.-et  j  more  disreputably  with  reckless  companions, 
launched  his  guilty  soul  into  eternity.  On  The  daily  contrast  presented  by  Cecil  and 
the  floor  of  the  cell' was  found  a  Idurred  sheet,  Russell  irritated  the  lather,,  and  hence  his 
Kprlnkled  with  blood,  directed  to  his  wife,  bid-  I  settled  dislike  of  the  latter.  The  faithful  dis- 
ding  her  farewell,  and  committing  her  and  !  charge  of  duty  on  the  part  of  the  clerk 
her  boy  to  the  care  of  an  outraged  and  insult-  i  allbrded  no  plausible  occasion  for  invective; 
ed  God.  Such  was  the  legacy  of  shame  which  I  he  felt  that  he  was  narrowly  watched,  and 
Russell  inherited;  was  it  any  marvel  that  at  resolved  to  give  no  ground  for  fault-finding; 
fixteen  that  boy  had  lived  ages  of  sorrow  ?  |  yet  during  the  long  summer  iLays,  when  the 
Mrs.  Aubrey  found  her  husband's  financial  i  intense  heat  prevented  customers  from  throng- 
affairs  so  involved  that  she  relinquished  the  |  ing  the  store,  and  there  was  notliing  to  be 
hope  of  retaining  the  little  .she  posses-scfK  and  !  done,  when  Russell,  knowing  that,  the  books 
retired  to  a  small  cottace  on  the  outskirts  of  >  were  written  up  and  the  counters  free  from 
the  town,  where  she  endeavored  to  support  1  goods,  took  iiis  Latin  grammar  nm\  inij)rovcd 
herself  and  the  two  dependent  on  her  by  tak-  !  every  leisure  half-hour,  he  was  not  ignorant 
ing  in  .*ewing.  Electra  Grey  was  the  orphan  '  of  tlie  fact  that  an  angry  scowl  darkened  hif» 
child  of  Mr.  Aubrey's  only  sister,  who  dying  in  employer's  visage,  and  understood  why  he 
poverty  betjueathed  tiie  infant  to  her  brother,  was  constantly  interrupted  to  perform  most 
He  had  loved  her  as  well  as  lii.s  own  Russell;  j  unnecessary  labors.  But  in  the  same  propor- 
and  his  wife,  who  cradled  her  in  her  arms  and  tiou  that  ol)staeles  thickened  his  energy  and 
taught  her  to  walk  by  clinging  to  her  finger,  '  resolution  doubled;  and  herein  one  Jiuman 
would  almost  as  soon  have  p'arted  with  her  I  s.nd  dilfers  from  another  in  strength  of  will, 
eon  as  the  little  Electra.  For  five  years  the  I  which  lurnlshes  powers  of  endurance.  What 
widow  had  toiled  by  midnight  lamps  to  feed  |  the  <lay  denied  iiiin  he  reclaimed  iVoui  night,  , 
these  two;  now  oitpress.d  nature  rebelled,  the  j  and  succeeded  in  uccpiiring  a  tolerable  knowl- 
long  over-taxed  eyes  refused  to  perform  their  |  (.-^Ige  of  Greek,  besides  reading  several  Latin 
oihee;  fiiiny  catarai:t.s  stole  over  them,  veiling  j  books.  Finding  that  his  small  salary  was 
their  siulness  and  their  unshed  tears  —  blind-  j  inailefjuate,  now  that  his  mother's  laillng  sight 
ness  was  creejjing  on.  At  his  father's  death,  j  prevented  lier  from  acconiplisliing  the  usual 
Russell  was  forced  to  quit  school,  and  with  '  amount  of  sewing,  he  solici'^^ed  and  obtained 
some  didiculty  he  succeed  id   in   obtaining  a  ^  pennissioa  to  keep  an  additional  .set  of  books 


situation  in  a  large  dry-goods  store,  wheic  his 
labors  were  onerous  in  the  extreme,  and  his 
wages  a  mere  pittance.  To  domineer  over 
those  whom  adverse  fortune  places  under  their 
control  is  by  no  means  unconnnon  among  ig- 
norant and  selfisii  men,  whose  industry  has 
acquired  independence,  and  though  Russell's 
employer,  Mr.  Watson,  shrank  from  eomiiiit-  j  ment  of  rent  due 


ibr  the  grocer  who  furnished  his  family  with 

provision-*,  though  by 

hours   rimained    for 

protra'.ted  illness  a 

faithful  servant,  togi 

dious  sickness,  bringin 

medical  aid,  had  p; 


ting  a  gross  wrong,  and  prided  himself  on  his  I  tage,  and  Russell  w»  compelled  to  ask  for  a 


arrangement  few 
ssary    sleep.      The 
lath  ol'  an  aged  and 
with  Eieelra's    te- 
he  c.Ktra  expense  of 
ted  the  prompt  pay- 
three-roomed  cot- 


MACARIA. 


poi'tion  of  his  salary  in  advance.  His  mother 
little  dreamed  of  the  struggle  which  took 
place  in  his  heart  ere  he  could  fon'e  himself 
to  make  the  request,  and  he  carefully  con- 
cealed from  her  the  fact  that  at  the  moment 
ot  receiving  the  money  he  laid  in  Mr.  Wat- 
sou's  hand  by  ■way  of  pawn  the  only  article  of 
any  value  which  he  possessed,  the  watch  his 
father  had  always  worn,  and  which  the  coroner 
took  from  the  vest-pocket  of  the  dead,  dabbled 
with  blond.  The  gold  chain  had  been  sold 
long  before,  and  the  son  wore  it  attached  to  a  1 
simple  black  ribbon.  His  employer  received 
the  watch,  locked  it  in  the  iron  safe,  and 
llusscU  fastened  a  small  weight  to  the  ribbon, 
and  kept  it  around  his  neck  that  his  mother  ' 
might  not  suspect  the  truth.  It  chanced  that ' 
Cecil  stood  near  at  the  time ;  he  saw  the 
watcii  deposited  in  the  safe,  whistled  a  tune, 
fingered  tiis  own  gold  repeater,  ai'id  walked 
away.  Such  Avas  Russell  Aubrey's  history; 
such  his  situation  at  the  beginning  of.  his 
seventeenth  year.  Have  I  a  reader  whose 
ibnd  father  lavishes  on  him  princely  advan- 
tages, whose  shelves  are  filled  with  valuable, 
but  unread  volumes,  whose  pockets  are  sup-' 
plied  with  more  than  necessary  money,  and 
who  yet  saunters  thi-ough  the  precious  season 
of  youth  failing  utterly  to  appreciate  his  privi- 
leges? Let  him  look  into  that  little  room 
where  Russell  sits,  pale,  wearied,  but  unbend- 
ing, pondering  hisK  dark  future,  planning  to 
protect  his  mother  from  want,  and  racking  his 
brain  tor  some  feasible  method  of  \procuring 
such  books  as  he  absolutely  needs ;  books 
which  his  eager,  hungry  eyes  linger  on  as  he 
passes  the  book-store  every  morning  going  to 
his  work.  Oh,  young  reader!  if  such  I  have, 
look  at  him  struggling  with  adversity  as  a 
strong  swimmer  with  the  murderous  waves 
tU^t  lash  him,  and,  contrasting  your  oAvn  for- 
tunate position,  shake  ofi'  the  inertia  that 
clings  to  you  tenacionsly  as  Sinbad's  burden, 
and  go  to  work  earnestly  and  bravely,  thank- 
ing God  for  the  aids  he  has  given  you. 

'•  Dis.ippoiiituitnt's  dry  and  bitter  ruot. 
Jbluv>  s  harsh  Ijcrries,  and  the  choking  poM 
Uf  iho  wurlJ'd  sturn,  ar»  the  right  inuthcr'-milk 
'to  tlic  IcUgli  bi-T-its  th:ii  pionttr  thuir  kind." 


cnArTi:R  ii. 

".Irene,  your  father  will  bc  displeased  if  he 
nees  you  in  that  plight." 

"  I'ray,  what  is  wrong  about  me  now  ?  You 
seem  to  glory  in  finding  fautt.  What  is  the 
matter  with  my  'pliglit'  as  you  call  it?" 

"You  kn6w  vfiffj'  well  your, father  can't 
boar  to  see  you  carrying  your  own  .satchel 
and  basket  to  school.  He  onlcred  Martha  to 
take  them  every  morning  and  evening,  but 
she  says  you  will  not  let  her  carry  them.  It  is 
just  sheer  ob.stinaey  in  you." 

"  There  it  is  agaun  |  because  I  don't  choose 


to  be  petted  like  a  baby  or  made  a  wax-doll 
of,  it  is  set  down  to  obstinacy,  as  if  I  had  the 
temper  of  a  heathen.  See  here,  aunt  Mar- 
garet, I  am  tired  of  having  Martha  tramping 
eternally  at  my  heels  as  though  I  were  a  two 
year  old  child.  There  is  no  reason  in>  her 
walkii\g  after  nic  when  I  am  strong  enough  to 
carry  my  own  books,  and  I  don't  intend  she 
shall  do  it  any  longer." 

"  But,  Irene,  your  father  is  too  proud  to 
have  you  trudgilig  along  the  road  like  any 
other  l^t'ggar,  vath  your  books  in  one  arm  and 
a  basket  swinging  on  the  other.  Just  suppose 
the  Carters  or  the  i-f;irrisses  ^70u!tl  meet  you  ? 
Dear  me!  they  would  hardly  believe  you 
belonged  to  a  wealthy,  aristocratic  family  like 
the  Huntingdons.  Clillil,  I  never  carried  my 
own  dinner  to  school  in  my  life."  . 

"And  I  expect  that  is  exactly  the  reason 
why  you  arefor  ever  complaining,  and  scarcely 
see  one  well  day  in  the  three  hundred  and 
sixty-tive.  As  to  what  people  think,  1  don't 
care  a  cent;  as  to  whether  my  ancestors  did 
or  did  not  carry  their  lunch  in  their  own  aris- 
tocratic hands  is  a  mattcn-  of  no  consequence 
Avhatever.  I  despise  all  this  ri<liculous  non- 
sense about  aristocracy  of  family,  and  I  mean 
to  do  as  I  please.  I  thought  that  really  well- 
bred  persons  of  high  standing  and  birth  could 
afford  to  be  silent  on  the  subject,  and  that 
only  parvenus,  coarse,  vulgar  people  wit!i  a 
little  money,  put  on  those  kind  of  airs,  and 
protended  to  be  shocked  at  what  they  had 
been  accustomed  to  in  early  life." 

"  I  do  not  see  where  you  get  snch  plebeian 
ideas;  yoii  positively  make  me  ashamed  of  you 
sometimes,  when  fashionable,  genteel  persons 
come  to  the  house.  There  is  such  a  want  of 
refinement  in  your  notions.  You  are  anything 
but  a  Huntingdon." 

"I  am  wliat  (Jod  made  me,  aunt  Margaret. 
If  the  Huntingdons  stand  high,  it  is  because 
they  won  distinction  by  their  own  eH'orts;  I 
don't  want  the  stepping-stones  of  my  dead  an- 
cestry; people  must  judge  me  for  myself,  not 
from  what  my  graudmotiier  was." 

Irene  Huntingdon  stood  op  the  marble  steps 
'  of,  her  palatial    home,   and    talked  witli   the 
!  maiden  aunt  who  governed  her  father's  house- 
hold.    The  <{irl  was  about  fourteen,  tall  for 
her  age,  straight,  llnely-formed,  ."lender.    The 
broad  straw  ha^haded,  but  by  ao  means  con- 
cealed her  feaWVes,  anil  as  she  looked  up  at 
her  aunt  the  sunshine  fell  upon  a  face  of  «x- 
;  traordinary  beauty,  such  as  is  rarely  seen,  save 
I  in  the  iil,  alized  heads  of  the  old  masteV.s.    Her 
I  hair  was  of  an  uncoininon  shade,  neither  au- 
burn nor  brown,  but  between  gold  and  bronze; 
and  as  the  sun  shone  on  it  the  rippling  waves 
fl;u>hed,  until. their  burnished  glory  seemed  a 
very  aureola.     It  was  thick  and  curlilig;  she 
!  wore  it  parted  on  her  pale,,  polished  forehead, 
I  and   it   bung  around  ]ier  like  a  gilded   veil. 
1  The  face  was  an  oval ;  you  might  measure  it 
1  by  all  the  rules  of  art  {fud  no  imper(eetion 


10 


MACARIA. 


could  bo  found,  unless  the  heijht  of  the  brow 
were  (.-onsidered  out  of  proportion.  The  nose 
v/as  delicate  and  clearly  cut,  au'l  in  outline 
resenvbled  that  in  the  anti(jue  niou  il?  of  Olym- 
pias,  the  wife  of  Piiiiip  of  Mactdoiiia.  The 
upper  lip  was  short,  and  curved  like  a  bow; 
the  lower,  thin,  firm,  and  straijjht.  Her  eyes 
were  stran<rely,  marvellously  beautiful;  they 
were  larorel-  tlian  usual,  and  of  that  rare  shade 
of  purj)Iish  blue  which  borders  the  white  velvet 
jMitals  of  a  ch'matis.  WIren  the  eyes  were  uj>- 
lifted,  as  on  this  occasion,  lonii,  curling  iashes 
of  the  bronze  l;^c  of  her  hair  rested  against 
her  brow.  '  Save  rhe  scarlet  lines  which  marked 
her  lips,  her  fa.;e  was  of  that  clear  colorless- 
ness  which  can  be  likened  only  to  the  purest 
ivory.  T!i«ngh  there  was  an  utter  absence  of 
the  rosy  hue  of  health,  the  transparency  of 
the  eomj)lexinn  seemed  characteristic  of  her 
typ?.  and  precluded  all  thought  of  disease. 
People  are  powerfully  attracted  by  beauty, 
eicher  of  ibrm,  color,  or  acombination  of  both; 
and  it  frequently  happens  that  something  of 
jiain  mingles  with  the  sensation  of  pleasure 
thus  excited.  Now,  whether  it  be  that  this 
arises  from  a  vague  apjirehensjon  engendered 
by  the  evanescent  nature  of  all  sublunary 
things,  or/rom  the  inability  of  earthly  types 
to  satisfy  the  divine  ideal  w||iich  the  soul  en- 
shrines. I  Tshall  not  here  attempt  to  decide; 
but  tho.'-'c  who  e.xamined  Irene's  countenance 
were  fully  conscious  of  this  complex  emotion ; 
and  strangers  v/bo  y>assed  her  in  the  street  felt 
intuitively  that  a  -noble,  unsullied  soul  looked 
out  at  them  Irom  tUe  deep,  calm,  thoughtful 
eyes.  Miss  Margaret  muttered  somethino;  in- 
audible in  reply  to  her  last  remark,  and  Irene 
walked  on  to  sirhool.  Her  father's  residence 
was  about  a  mile  Irom  the  town,  but  the  wind- 
ing road  rendered  the  walk  somewhat  longer; 
and  on  one  si<le  of  this  road  stood  the  small 
house  oceupie<l  by  Mrs.  Aubrey.  As  Irene 
approached  it  she  saw  Electra  Grey  coming 
from  the  opposite  direction,  and  at  the  cottage 
gale  they  met.  Both  pau.sed;  Irene  h'jld  out 
her  hand  cordially — 

"  Good-morning.  I  have  not  seen  you  for  a 
fortnight.  I  thought  you  were  coming  to  school 
again  as  soon  as  you  were  strong  enough  ?  " 

"No;  I  am  not  going  back  to«chool." 

"Why?" 

"Because  auntie  can't  aflFord  to  send  me 
any  longer.  You  know  her  eyes  are  growing 
worse  every  day,  and  she  is  not  able  to  take 
in  sewing  as  she  used  to  do.  I  am  sorry ;  but 
it  can't  be  helped." 

'■  How  do  you  know  it  can't  be  helped  ? 
Russell  told  me  he  thought  she  had  cataracts 
on  her  eyes,  and  they  can  be  removed." 

"Perhaps  so,  if  we  had  the  means  of  con- 
sulting that  celebrated  physician  in  New  Or- 
leans. Money  removes  a  great  many  things, 
Irie,  but  unfortunately  we  have' n't  it." 

"  The  trip  would  not  cost  much ;  suppose 
you  speak  to  Russell  about  it." 


"Much  or  little,  it  will  ^-equire  more  than 
we  can  possibly  spare.  Everything  is  so  high 
we  can  liarely  live  as  it  i.s.  But  I  must  go  in, 
my  aunt  is  waiting  for  me." 

••  Wliere  have  you  been  so  early,  Electra? 
I  hope  you  will  not  think  me  impertinent  in 
asking  such  a  question." 

'•  I  carried  this  waiter  full  of  bouquets  to 
Mr.  Carter's.  There  is  to  be  a  grand  dinner-, 
party  t'.ierc  to-day,  and  auntie  promised  as 
many  flowers  as  she  could  furni.sh.  However, 
bouquets  pay  poorly.  Irie,  wait  one  minute; 
I  have  a  little  border  of  mignonette  all  my 
owu,  and  I  should  like  to  give  you  a  spray." 

She  hurried  into  the  gaiden,  and  returning 
with  a  few  delicate  sprigs  fastened  one  in  her 
friend's  belt  and  the  remainder  in  the  ribbon 
on  her  hat. 

"Thaf'k  you,  Electra;  who  told  you  that  I 
love  mignonette  so  well  ?  It  will  not  do  for 
you  to  stay  away  from  scTiool;  I  miss  you  in 
my  class,  and  besides,  you  are  losing  too  much 
tiu\e.  Something  should  be  done,  Electra. 
Good-by." 

They  shook  hands,  and  Irene  walked  on. 
"  Something  should  be  done,"  she  repeated, 
looking  down  fi.xedly  yet  vacantly  at  the  sandy 
road.  Soon  the  brick  walls  oT  the  academy 
ro.-;e  grim  and  uninviting,  and  taking  her  place 
at  the  desk  she  applied  herself  to  her  books. 
When  school  was  dismissed  in  the  afternoon, 
instead  of  returning  home  as  usual  she  walked 
down  the  principal  street,  entered  Mr.  Wat- 
son's store,  and  put  her  books  on  the  counter. 
It  happened  that  the  proprietor  stood  near  the 
front  doov,  and  he  came  forward  instantly  to 
wait  upon  her. 

"Ah,  ML<s  Irene!  happy  to  see  you.  What 
shall  I  have  the  pleasure  of  showing  you?" 

"  Il;issell  Aubrey,  if  you  please."  , 

TJie  merchant  stared,  and  she  added: 

'•1  want  some  kid  gauntlets,  bat  Russell  can 
get  them  ibr  me." 

The  young  clerk  stood  at  the  desk  in  the 
rear  of  the  store,  with  his  back  toward  the 
counter;  and  Mr.  Watson  called  out: 

"  Here,  Aubrey,  some  kid  gauntlets  for  this 
young  lad}-." 

He  laid  down  his  pen,  find  taking  a  box  of 
gloves  Irom  the  shelves  placed  it  on  the  coun- 
ter beibro  her.  He  had  not  noticed  her  par- 
ticularly, and  when  .she'puslied  back  her  hat 
and  looked  up  at  him  he  started  slightly. 

"  Good-evening,  Miss  Huntingdon.  What 
number  do  yon  wish  ?" 

Perhaps  it  was  from  the  heat  of  the  day,  or 
from  stooping  over  his  desk,  or  perhaps  it  was 
from  .something  else,  but  his  cheek  was  flushed, 
and  gradually  it  grew  pale  again. 

"  Russell,  I  want  to  speak  to  you  about 
Electra.  She  ought  to  be  at  school,  you 
know." 

"  Yes."  •      • 

"  But  she  says  ygnr  mother  can't  afford  the 
expense." 


MACARIA. 


11 


"  Just  now  she  can  not ;  next  year  things 
will  be  better."       f 

"  What  is  the  tuition  for  her  ?" 
"  Five  f'oliars  a  month." 
"  Is  that  all  ■>" 

He  selected  a  delicate  fawn-colored  pair  of. 
gloves  and  laid  them  before  her,  while  a  faint 
smile  passe/1  oyer  his  face. 

"  Russell,  has  anything  happened  ?" 
"  What  do  you  mean  V" 
"  What  is  troubling  you  so?" 
"  Nothing  more  than  usual.    Do  those  gloves 
suit  you  ? ' 

"  Yes,  they  will  fit  me,  I  believe."  She 
looked  at  him  ve^-y  intentlv. 

\li\  met  her  gaze  steadily,  and  for  an  instant 
his  liice  brightened;  then  she  said,  abruptly: 
"  Your  motlicr's  eyes  arc  worse  ?" 
"  Yes,  much  worse." 

"  Have  you  consulted  Dr.  Arnold  about 
them  V" 

"  He  says  he  can  do  nothing  for  her." 
"  How  much  would  it  cost  to  take  her  to 
New  Orleans  and  have  that  celebrated  oculist 
examine  them  ?" 

"More  than  we  can  afford  just  now;  at 
least  two  hundred  dollars." 

'•  Oh,  Ruisell  1   that  is  not  much.     Would 
not  Mr.  "Watson  lend  you  that  little  ?" 
"  1  shall  not  ask  him." 
"  Not  i.'ven  to  restore  your  mother's  sfght?" 
"  Not  to  buy  my  own  life.     Besides,  the  ex- 
periment is  a  (.loubtful  one." 
"  Siill  it  is  worth  m.aking." 
"  Yes,  under  different  circumstances  it  cer- 
tainly would  be." 

"  Have  vou  talked  to  Mr.  Campbell  about 
it?" 

"  No,  because  it  is  useless  to  discuss  the 
matter." 

"  It  woukl  be  dangerous  to  go  to  New  Or- 
leans now,  I  suppose?" 

"  October  or  November  would  be  better." 
Again  she  looked   at  him  very  earnestly, 
then  stretched  out  her  little  hand. 

"  Ciood-by,  Russell ;  I  wish  I  could  do  some- 
thing to  help  you,  to  make  you  less  sorrowful." 
He  held  the  slight  waxen  fingers,  and  his 
mouth  trembled  as  he  answered. 

"  Thank  you,  Miss  Huntingdon.  I  am  not 
son-owful,  but,  my  path  in  life  is  not  quite  so 
flowery  as  jours." 

"  I  v.'ish  you  would  not  call  me  '  Miss  Hun- 
tingdon,' in  tliat  stiff,  far-off  way,  as  if  we 
were  notv  friends.  Or  maybe  it  is  a  hint  that 
you  desire  me  to  address  you  as  Mr.  Aubrey. 
It  sounds  strange,  unnatural,  to  say  anything 
but  Russell." 

She  gathered  up  her  books,  took  the  gloves, 
and  went  slowly  homeward,  and  Russell  re- 
turned to  his  desk  with  a  light  in  his  eyes 
which,  for  the  remainder  of  the  day,  nothing 
could  quench.  As  Irene  ascended  the  long 
liill  on  wliich.Mr.  Huntingdon's  residence 
stood  she  saw  her  father's  buggy  at  the  door. 


and  as  she  approached  the  steps  he  came  out, 
drawing  on  his  gloves. 

"  Y'6u  are  late,  Irene.    What  kept  you  ?" 
"  i  have  been  shopping  a  little.     Are  you 
going  to  ride  ?     Take  me  with  you." 
"  Going  to  dine  at  iNIr.  Carter's." 
"  Wiiy,  the  sun  is  almost  down  now.    What 
time  will  you  come  home  ?     I  want  to  ask  you 
something." 

"  Not  till  long  after  you  are  asleep." 
He  took  his  seat  in  the  buggy,  and  the 
spirited  horse  dashed  down  the  avenue.  A 
servant  came  forward  to  take  her  hat  and 
satchel  and  inform  her  that  her  dinner  had  • 
waited  some  time.  Miss  Margaret  sat  crotch- 
eting  at  tiie  front  window  of  tiie  dlniiig-roora, 
and  Irene  ate  her  dinner  in  silence.  As  she 
rose  and  approached  her  aunt  the  door  swung 
open  and  a  youth  entered,  apparently  about 
'  Rus.sell's  age,  though  really  one  year  older. 

"  Irene,  1  am  tired  to  death  waiting  for  you. 
What  a  provoking  girl  you  are.  The  horstis 
have  been  saddled  at  least  one  hour  and  a 
half.  Do  get  on  your  riding-dress.  I  am  out 
of  all  patience." 

He  rapped  his  boot-heavily  with  his  whip 
by  way  of  emphasis,  and  looked  hurriedly  at 
his  watch. 

"  I  did  not  promise  to  ride  with  you  this 
evening,  Hugh,"  answered  his  cousin,  seating 
herself  on  the  window-sill  and  runjiing  her 
fingers  lightly  over  the  bars  of  a  beautiful 
cage,  where  her  canary  pecked  playfully  at 
the  fair  iiand. 

"  Oh,  nonsense !  Suppose  you  did  n't  prom- 
ise ;  I  waited  for  you,  and  told  Grace  Harriss 
and  Charlie  that  we  would  meet  them  at  the 
upper  beiid  of  the  river,  just  above  the  fac-, 
tory.  Charlie's  new  horse^has  just  arrived 
from  Vermont — Green  Mountain  Boy,  he  calls 
him — and  we  have  a  bet  of  a  half-dozen  pairs 
of  gloves  that  he  can't  beat  my  Eclipse. 
Do  come  along !  Aunt  Margaret,  make  hei" 
come." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  anybody  qiake  her 
do  what  she  is  not  in  the  humor  for,"  said 
his  aunt,  looking  over  her  glasses  at  the  lithe, 
graceful  figure  on  the  window-sill. 

"  Hugh,  I  would  rather  stay  at  home,  for  I 
am  tired,  but  I  will  go  to  oblige  you." 

Miss  ^largaret  lilted  her  eyebrows,  and 
as  his  cousin  left  the  room  Hugh  Seymour 
exclaimed : 

"  Is  n't  she  the  greatest  beauty  in  the  United 
States  V" 

"  She  will  be  a  belle  when  she  is  grown ; 
just  such  a  one  as  your  mother  was,  only  she 
lacks  her  gayety  of  disposition.  She  is  full 
of  strange  notions,  Hugh;  you  don't  know  the 
half  of  her  character — her  own  father  does 
not.  Frequently  I  am  puzzled  to  understand 
her  myself." 

"  Oh  I  she  will  come  out  of  all  that.  She 
is  curious  about  some  things  now,  but  she  will 
outgrow  it." 


12 


MACARIA. 


"I  am  afraid  she  -will  not,  for  it  is  as  much 
a  part  of  Lcr  as  the  color  of  her  hair  or 
the  sha;pe  of  her  nose.  She  has  always  been 
queen." 

Irene  appeai'wl  at  the  door  with  a  small 
sihf^r  po}-te-moni>aie  iu  hir  hand.  Sheeounted 
the  contents,  put  it  into  her  pocket,  and, 
'gathering  up  the  Molds  of  her  habi^,  led  the 
way  to  the  front  door.  Hugh  adjusted  the 
reins,  and  laying  one  hand  on  his  she  sprang 
lightly  to  her  saddle,  then  stroked  her  horse's 
silky  mane  and  said : 

•'Erebu^  can  leave  Green  Mountain  Boy  so 
far  behind  that  Charlie  would  find  it  no  easy 
matter  to  count  the  plumes  in  my  hat.  Are 
you  ready  V" 

The  beautiful,  jetty  creature,  as  if  conscious 
of  her  praise,  tossed  his  head  and  sprang 
oif  in  a  canter,  but  wheeling  round  she  called 
to  the  groom  who  stood  watching  them; 

"  Uuehain  Paragon !" 

Five  minutes  later  the  cousins  were  gallop- 
ing on,  with  a  superb  greyhound  ibllowing 
clo<e  at  Erebus'  heels,  and  leaping  up  now 
and  then  in  obedience  to  the  motion  of  Irene's 
hand.  The  road  ran  through  a  hilly  country, 
now  clad  iu  stern,  ancestial  pines,  and  now 
skirttd  with  oak  and  hickory,  and  about  a 
mile  beyond  the  town  it  made  a  sharp  angle, 
and  took  the  river  bank.  The  sun  iiad  set, 
but  the  western  sky  was  still  aglow ;  aud  near 
the  bank,  where  the  current  was  not  per- 
ceptible, the,  changing  tints  ,of  the  cfouds 
v/erc  clearly  mirrored,  but  in  the  middle  of 
the  stream  a  Ici^e  of  rock  impeded  lis  course, 
and  the  water  broke  over  with  a  dull  roar, 
churniag  itself  into  foam  and  spray  as  it 
dasilied  trom  shelf  to  shelf  of  the  etony  bar- 
rier. Just  opposite  the  l<'all,  Irene  checked 
her  horse,  and  paus<jd  to  Udmire  the  beauty 
of  tiie  scene ;  but  in  another  moment  the 
•  quick  tramp  of  hoofs  fell  on  her  ear,  and 
Hugh's  young  friends  joined  them.  Green 
Mountaiu  Boy  was  flecked  with  foam,  aud 
as  irene  measured  his  perfections  at  one 
hasty  glance  she  jjatted  her  favorite's  head 
and  chaliengjd  C'iiarlie  for  a  trial  of  speed. 

^' No,  Charlie  uud  1  must,  have  the  race. 
Miss  Grace,  you  and  Irene  can  take  care  of 
yourselves  for  a  few  minutes.  We  will  wait 
for  you  on  the  edge  of  town,  at  the  grave- 
yWd.     Now,  Cliarhe,  I  am  ready." 

They  took  their  places  in  front,  and  were 
Boon  out  of  sight,  as  the  road  followed  the 
curves  of  the  river.  Erebus  plunged  vioUmt- 
ly  at  first,  not  being  accustomed  to  lag  behind 
Ki.lipse,  but  by  much  persuasion  and  frequent 
kind  touches  on  his  head,  Irene  managed  to 
reconcile  him  to  the  temporary  disgrace. 

(iraee  looked  at  his  antics  rather  fearfully, 
aud  observed  tliat  no  amount  of  money  could 
tempt  her  to  moimt  him. 
"  Why  not?" 

"  He  will  break  your  neck  yet.". 
I       •'  He  is  very  spirited,  but  as  gentle  as  Para- 


gon. Come,  Grace,  it  is  getting  late;  they 
will  be  waiting  for  u«.  Quicken  your  sober, 
meek  little  brownie." 

"  So  Electra  is  not  coming  back  to  school. 
It  is  a  great  pity  she  can't  have  an  education." 

"  Who  told  you  anything  about  herV" 

'•  Oh,,  everybody  knows  how  poor  her  aunt 
is;  and  now  to  mend  matters  she  is  going 
blind.  I  would  go  to  see  Electra  occasionally 
if  the  family  had  not  been  so  disgraced.  I 
like  her,  but  no  genteel  person  recognizes 
Mrs.  Aubrey,  even  in  the  street." 

"  That  is  very  unjust.  She  is  one  of  the 
most  refined,  elegant  women  I  have  ever  seen. 
Slie  ought  not  to  be  blamed  for  her  husband's 
mistbrtune.     Poverty  is  lio  crime." 

If  she  had  been  treated  to  a  Hindostanee 
proverb,  Grace  could  not  have  looked  more 
stujiidly  surprised. 

'•  Wliy,  Irene!  Mrs.  Aubrey  wears  a  bit- 
calico  to  church."  • 

"Well,  suppose  she  does?  Is  people's 
worth  to  be  determined  only  by  the  cost  or 
the  quality  of  their  clothes?  If  I  were  to 
give  your  cook  a.  silk  dress  exactly'  like  that 
one  your  uncle  sent  you  from  Paris,  and  pro- 
vide her  with  shawl  and  bonnet  to  match, 
would  she  be  your  equal,  do  you  think?  I 
imagine  you  w^ould  not  thank  me  or  anybody 
else  who  insinuated  that  Mrs.  Ilan-iss'  negro 
cook  was  quite  as  genteel  a,nd  elegant  as  Mifs 
Grace  herself,  because  she  wore  exactly  the 
same  kind  of  clothes.  I  tell  you,  Grace,"  it  iSn' 
all  humbug !  this  everlasting  talk  about  fash- 
ion, and  dress,  iuid  gentility!  Pshaw  I  I  am 
sick  of  it.  When  our  forefathers  were  fighting 
for  freedom,  for  a  national  existence,  I  won- 
der whether  their  wives  measured  each  other's 
respectability  or  gentility  by  their  lace  collars 
or  the  number  of  flounces  on  their  dresses?' 
Grace  Harriss,  your  great-grandmother,  and 
mine,  and  probably  everybody's  else,  spun  the 
cotton,  and  wove  the  cloth,  and  cut  and  ma^le 
their  homespun  di'esses,  and  were  thankful  to 
get  them.  And  these  women  who  ha,d  not 
even  bit-calicoes  were  the  mothers,  and  wives, 
and  sisters,  and  daughters  of  men  who  estab- 
lished the  most  glorious  government  on  the  face 
of  the  broad  earth  !  The  way  the  women  of 
America  have  degenerated  is  a  crying  shame. 
I  tell  you,  I  would  blush  to  look  my  great- 
grandmother  in  the  face." 

Grace  shrugged  her  shoulders  in  expressive 
silence,  and,  soon  after,  they  reached  the  spot 
where  the  boys  were  waiting  to  join  them. 

"  Eclipse  made  good  his  name !"  cried  Hugh, 
tiiunq)!u»ntly,  while  Charlie  bit  his  Hp  with 
cha<i;nn. 

'%ever  mind,  Charlie,  Erebus  can  distance 
Eclipse  any  day." 

"N!5t  so  easily,"  muttered  Hugh. 

"  I  will  prove  it  the  next  time  we  ride.  Now 
for  a  canter  as  far  as  Grace's  door." 

On  they  went,  through  the  main  street  of 
the  town:  Erebus  ahead, Paragon  at  his  heels, 


MACARIA. 


13 


then  all  the  others.  The  wind  blew  Irene's 
veil  over  her  eyes,  she  endeavored  to  put  it 
back,  and  in  the  eifort  dropped  her  whip.  It 
was  ousk  ;  they  were  near  one  of  the  cross- 
ings, and  a  tall  well-known  form  stooped, 
found  the  whip,  and  handed  it  np.  Erebus 
shied,  but  the  hand  touched  Irene's  as  it  in- 
serted the  silver  handle  in  the  slender  finger?. 

"  'J'iiank  you,  Russell,  thank  you  verymueh." 

lie  bowed  fornnlly,  drew  his  straw  hat  over 
bis  brow,  and  walked  on  with  two  heavy  ac- 
count-books under  his  arm. 

"  I  can't  endure  that  boy,"  said  Hugh,  at 
the  distance  of  half  a  square,  flourishing  his 
whip  eni'.i'gctieally  as  he  sjioke. 

"  Nor  I,''  chimed  in  Charlie. 

"  Wliy  not  ?  I  have  known  him  along  time, 
and  I  like  him  very  much." 

"  He  is  so  confoundedly  proud  and  saintly." 

'*  That  exists  entirely  in  your  imagination, 
ilugh.  You  don't  know  half  his  good  qoali- 
ties,"  returned  Irene,  a  little  quickly. 

"  Bah  I — "  began  her  cousin  ;  but  here  their 
companions  bade  them  good-night,  and,  as  if 
disinclined  to  continue  the  subject,  Irene  kept 
in  ailvance  till  they  reached  home.  Tea  wAs 
waiting ;  Miss  Margaret  and  Hugh  talked  of 
various  things  ;  Irene  sat  silent,  balancing  her 
spoon  on  the  edge  of  her  cup.  Finally,  tired 
of  listening,  she  glided  to  the  front  door  and 
seated  herself  on  the  steps.  Paragon  followed, 
and  laid  down  at  her  feet.  Everything  was 
({uict,  save  the  distant  roar  of  the  river  as  it 
foamed  over  its  rocky  bed ;  bolow,  hanging  on 
the  bank  of  the  stream,  lay  the  tow".  From 
her  elevated  position  she  could  trace  the  wind- 
ing of  the  streets  by  the  long  rows  of  lamps  ; 
and  now  and  then  a  faint  hum  rose  on  the 
breeze,  as  it  swept  up  the  hill  and  lost,  itself  in 
tlie  forest  behind  the  house.  Very  soon  Hugh 
came  out,  cigar  in  hand,  and  threw  himself 
down  beside  her. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Trie  ?" 

"  Nothing." 

"  What  are  you  moping  here  for  ?" 

"  I  am  not  moping  at  all ;  1  am  waiting  for 
ftxther."     ^      • 

"He  will  not  be  here  for  three  hours  yet. 
Don't  you  know  that  Mr.  Carter's  dinners 
always  end  in  card-parties  ?  He  is  famous 
for  whist  anjl  euchre,  and  doubtless  his  din- 
ners pay  him  well.  What  do  you  want  with 
uncle  ?" 

"  Hugh,  do  throw  away  your  cigar.  It  is 
ridiculous  to  see  a  boy  of  your  age  pufting 
a%vay  in  that  style.  Betting  and  smoking 
seem  to  be  the  only  things  you  have  learneil 
at;  Yale.     By  the  way,  when  do  you  go  back  ?" 

"  Are  ,you  getting  tired  of  me  ?  I  go  back 
in  ten  days.  Irene,  do  you  know  that  I  am 
not  coming  home  next  vacation  ?  I  have 
promised  a  party  of  merry  fellows  to  spend  it 
with  them  in  C:\nada.  Theu  the  next  sum- 
mer I  go  to  Europe,  for  two  years  at  least. 
Are  you  listening  '!     Do  you  understand  that 


it  will  be  four  years  before  I  see  you  again  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  understand." 

"  I  dare  say  the  time  will  seem  longer  to  rae 
than  to  you." 

"  I  hope  when  you  do  come  back  we  shall  . 
not  be  disappointed  in  you." 

He  took  ber  hand,  but  she  withdrew  her 
fingers. 

"  Irene,  you  belong  to  rae,  and  you  know  it."  . 

"  No  !  I  belong  to  God  and  mvselt'." 

She  rose,  and,  retreating  td  the  library, 
opened  her  books  and  began  to  study.  Th« 
night  passed  very  slowly ;  she  looked  at  the 
clock  again  and  again.  Finally  the  house  be- 
came quiet,  and  at  last  the  cru'sli  of  wheels  ou 
the  gravel-walk  announced  her  father's  return. 
He  came  into  the  library  for  a  cigar,  and,  with- 
out noticing  her,  drew  his  ch<air  to  the  open 
window.  She  approached  and  put  her  hand 
on  his  shoulder. ' 

"  Irene!  what  is  the  matter,  child?" 

"  Nothing,  sir ;  only  I  want  to  ask  you  some- 
thing." 

"  VV'ell,  Queen,  what  is  it  ?" 

He  drew  her  tenderly  to  .his  knee,  and 
passed  his  hand  over  her  floating  hair. 

Leonard  Huntingdon  was  forty  years  old;, 
tall,  spare,  with  an  erect  and  martial  carriage. 
He  had  been  trained  at  West  Point,  andper- 
haps  early  education  contributed  somewhat:  to 
the  air  of  unbending  haughtiness  which  many 
found  repulsive.  His  black  hair  was  slightly 
sprinkled  with  gray,  and  his  features  were  still 
decidedly  handsome,  though  the  expression  of 
mouth  and  eyes  was,  ordinarily,  by  no  means 
winning.  He  could  seem  very  fascinating,  but 
rarely  deigned  to  be  so;  and  an  intimate  n«- 
quaiiitance  was  not  necessary  to  teach  people 
that  he  was  proiid,  obstinate,  and  thoroughly 
selfish — loving  only  Hugh,  Irene,  and  himself. 
She  was  his  only  child;  her  mother  had  died 
during  her  infancy,  and  on  this  beautiful  idol 
he  lavished  all  the  tenderness  of  which  hi« 
nature  was  capable.  His  tastes  were  culti- 
vated, his  house  was  elegant  and  complete, 
and  furnished  magnificently;  every  luxury 
that  money  could  yie'ld  him  he  possessed,  yet 
there  were  times  when  he  seemed  moody  and 
cvnical,  and  no  one  could  surmise  the  cause  of 
his  aloom.  To-night  there  w;\s  no  shvlow  on 
hi;  face,  how^ever;  doubtless  the  sparkle  of  the 
I  wine-cup  still  shone  in  his  piercing  blue  eye, 
and  the  girl  looked  up  at  him  fearing  no  denial. 
I  "  Father^  I  wish,  please,  you  would  give  mc 
i  two  hundred  dollars."  ^ 

I      "  What  would  you  do  with  it, .Queen  ?" 
I      "  I  do  not  want  it  for  myself;  I  should  like 
I  (o  have  that  much  to  enable  a  poor  woman  to 
j  recover  her  sight.     She  has  cataracts  on  her 
eyes,  and  there  is  a  physician  in  New  Orleans 
who  can  relieve  her.     Slie  is  poor,  and  it  v.ill 
cost  about  two  hundred  dollars.     Father,  won't 
you  give  me  the  money?"     , 

He  took  the  cigar  from  his  lipy,  shook  oil 
'  the  ashes,  and  asked  indillerently  : 


14 


MACARIA. 


"  What  is  tlie  -nroman's  name  ?  Has  she  no 
husband  to  take  cary  of  her  ?" 

"  Mrs.  Aubrey ;  she — ." 

"Whit!" 

The  cigar  fell  from  his  (injior?,  he  put  her 
from  his  knee,  and  rose  instantly.  Ilis  swarthy 
cheek  slowed,  and  she  wondered  at  the  ex- 
pression of  his  eyes,  so  different  from  anything 
shQ  had  over  seen  there  before. 

"  Father,  do  you  know  her  V" 

"Whatdo')'ou  know  of  her?  What  busi- 
ness is  it  of  yours,  whothcr  she  croes  blind,  or 
not?  Is  it  possible  Margaret  allows  you  to 
visit  at  that  house  ?  Answer  mc ;  what  do 
you  know  about  her  ?" 

"  I  know  that  she  ie  a  very  gentle,  unfor- 
tunate woman  ;  that  she  has  many  bitter 
1/ials;  that  she  works  hard  to  support  her 
family;  that  she  is  noble  and — ." 

"  Who  gave  you  permission  to  visit  that 
house  ?" 

"  Xo  permission  was  necessary.  I  go  there 
because  I  love  her  and  Ele(!tra,  and  because 
I  like  Russell.  Why  should  n't  I  go  there, 
sir  V     Is  poverty  disgrace  V" 

"  Irene,  mark  me.  You  are  to  visit;  that 
house  no  more  in  future ;  keep  away  from  the 
whole  family.  I  will  have  no  such  associa- 
tion. \  Never  let  me  hear  their  names  again. 
Grt)  to  bed." 

"  Give  me  one  good  reason,  and  I  will  obey 
you." 

"  Reason  !  ]\Iy  will,  my  command,  is  suffi- 
cient reason.  What  do  you  mean  by  eate- 
chising  mc.  in  this  way  ?  Implicit  obedience 
is  your  duty." 

Thecalm  hoi}'  eyes  looked  wonderingly  into 
his :  and  as  he  marked  the  startled  expression 
of  the  girl's  pure  face  his  own  eyes  drooped. 

"  Father,  has  Mrs.  Aubrey  ever  injured 
you  ?" 

No  answer. 

"  If  she  has  not,  you  are  very  unjust  to 
her;  if  she  hjus,  remember  she  is  a  Tvoman, 
bowed  down  with  many  sorrows,  and  it  is  un- 
manly to  hoard  up  old  diiferences.  Father, 
please  give  mo  that  money.' 

"  J  will  bury  my  last  dollar  in  the  Red  sea 
first !     Now  are  you  answered  V" 

•  She  put  her  hand  over  her  eyes,  as  if  to 
sliut  out  some  painful  visioir;  and  he  saw  th.j 
slight  form  shudder.  In  perfect  silence  she 
took  her  l)ooks  and  went  up  to  her  room.  Mr. 
Iluutingilon  reseated  himself  as  the  door 
closed  behind  her,  and  the  lamplight  showed 
a  sinister  smile  writhing  over  his  dark  features. 
In  the  busy  hours  of  day,  in  the  rush  and  din 
of  active  life,  men  can  drown  remorseful 
whispers,  and  shut  their  eyes  to  the  panorama 
which  memory  strives  to  place  before  them ; 
but  there  come  still  hours,  solemn  and  inexo- 
rable, when  struggles  are  useless,  and  the 
phantom-recollections  of  early  years  crowd 
up  like  bannel-ed  armies.  He  sat  there, 
staring  out  into  the  starry  night,  and  seeing 


by  the  shimmer  of  the  setting  moon  only  the 
graceful  form  and  lovely  face  of  Amy'  Au- 
brey, as  she  had  appeared  to  him  in  other 
days.  CouM  he  forget  the  hour  when  she 
wrenched  her  cold  fingers  from  his  clasp,  and, 
in  defiance  of  her  father's  wishes,  vowed  she 
would  never  be  his  wife  ?  No  ;  revenue  waa 
sweet,  very  sweet ;  his  heart  had  swelled  with 
(  xultation  when  the  verdict  of  death  upon 
the  gallows  wa»pronounced  upon  the  husband 
of  her  choice ;  and  now,  her  poverty,  her 
humiliation,  her  blindness  gave  him  deep,  uu- 
utterable  joy.  The  history  of  the  past  was  a 
sealed  volume  to  his  daughter,  but  she  was 
now  for  the  first  time  conscious  that  her 
father  regarded  the  widow  and  her  son  with 
unconquerable  hatred  ;  and  with  strange,  fore- 
boding dread  she  looked  into  the  future, Icuow- 
iiig  that  forgiveness  was  no  part  of  his  nature  ; 
that  insult  or  injury  was  never  forgotten. 


CHAPTER  III. 

Whether  the  general  rule  of  implicit  obe- 
dience to  parental  injunction  admitted  of  no 
exceptions,  was  a  problem  which  Irene  read- 
ily solved ;  and  on  Saturday,  as  soon  as  her 
father  and  cousin  had  started  to  the  plantation 
(twenty-five  miles  distant),  she  put  on  her  hat, 
and  walked  to  town.  Wholly  absorbed  in 
philanthropic  schemes,  she  hurried  along  t^io 
sidewalk,  ran  up  a  flight  of  steps,  and  knocked 
at  a  door,  on  which  was  written  in  large  gilt 
letters  "  Dr.  Arnold." 

".  Ah,  Beauty !  come  In.  Sit  down,  and 
tell  me  what  brought  you  to  town  .^o  early." 

He  was  probably  a  man  of  fifty ;  gruff  in 
appearance,  and  unmistakably  a  bachelor. 
Ills  thick  hair  was  grizzled, ^so  was  the  heavy 
beard  ;  and  shaggy  gray  eyebrows  slowly  un- 
bent, as  he  took  !iis  visitor's  little  hands  and 
looked  kindly  down  into  her  grave  face.  From 
her  infancy  lie  had  petted  and  fondled  her, 
and  she  stood  as  little  in  awe  of  him  as  of 
Paragon. 

"  Doctor,  are  you  busy  this  morning?" 

"  I  am  never  too  busy  to  attend  to  you, 
little  one.     "WHiat  is  it  ?" 

"  Of  course  you  know  that  IMrs.  Aubrey  is 
almost  blind." 

"  Of  course  I  do,  having  been  her  phy- 
bitian."' 

"  Those  c^vtaraets  can  be  removed,  how- 
ever." 

"  Perhaps  they  can,  and  perhaps  they  can't.'' 

"  But  the  probabilities  are  that  a  good  ocu- 
list can  relieve  her." 

"  I  rather  think  so." 

"  Two  hundred  dollars  would  defray  all  the 
expenses  of  a  trip  to  New  Orleans  for  this 
purjiose,  but  she  is  too  poor  to  afford  it." 

"  Decidedly  too  poor." 

Ills  gray  eyes  twinkled  promisingly,  but  ho 
would  not  anticipate  her. 


MACARIA. 


15 


"Dr.  Arnold,  don't  you  think  you  could 
spare  tliat  small  sum  without  much  incon- 
venience ?" 

"  Really  !  is  that  what  you  trudged  into 
town  for  ?" 

"Yes,  just  that,  and  nothing  else.  If  I  had 
had  the  money  I  should  not  have  applied  to 
you." 

"  Pshaw !  your  father  could  buy  me  a  dozen 
times." 

"  At  any  rate,  I  have  not  the  necessary 
amount  at  my  disposal  just  now,  and  I  came 
to  aslf  you  to  lend  it  to  me." 

"  For  how  long,  Beauty  ?"     • 

"  Till  I  am  of  age — perhaps  not  so  long,  I 
will  pay  you  the  interest.-' 

"You  will  climb  Pojjocatapell,  won*t  you  ? 
Hush,  child." 

He  went  into  the  adjoining  room,  but  soon 
returned,  and  resumed  his  seat  on  the  sofa  by 
her  side. 

"Irene,  did  you  first  apply  to  your  father? 
I  don't  relish  the  idea  of  being  a  dernier 
ressart." 

"  What  diflerence  can  it  make  to  you 
whether  I  did  or  did  not  ?  That  I  come  to 
you  at  all  is  sufficient  proof  of  m3'  faith  in 
your  generosity." 

Iliram  Arnold  was  an  acute  and  practised 
physiognomist,  but  the  pale,  quiet  face  per- 
plexed him. 

"  Do  you  want  the  money  now  V 

"  Yes,  if  you  please  ;  but  befoi-e  you  give  it 
to  me  I  ought  to  tell  you  that  1  want  the 
ma*tter  kept  secret.  No  one  is  to  know  any- 
thing about  it — not  even  my  father." 

"  Irene,,  is  it  right  to  inveigle  vxft'  into 
schehies  with  which  you  are  ashamed  to  have 
your  own  father  acquainted  ?" 

''You  know  the  whole  truth,  therefore  you 
are  not  inveigled;  and  moreover.  Doctor,  I 
am  not  ashamed  of  anj  thing  I  do. ' 

She  looked  so  unembarrassed  that  for  a 
moment  he  felt  puzzled. 

"  I  knew  Mrs.  Aubrey  before  her  mari'iage." 
lie  bent  forward  to  watch  the  effect  of  his 
wwds,  but  if  she  really  knew  or  suspected 
{'.uglit  of  the  past,  there  was  not  the  slightest 
intimation  of  it.  Putting  back  her  hail",  she 
looked  up  and  answered  : 

"  That  should  increase  your  willingness  to 
aid  her  in  htr  misfortunes." 

"  Hold  out  your  hand  ;  fifty,  one  hundred, 
a  hundred  and  fifty,  two  hundred.  There, 
will  that  do  'i" 

"  Thank  you  1  thank  you.  You  will  not 
need  it  soon,  I  hope?" 

"  Not  until  you  are  ready  to  pay  me." 

"  Dr.  Arnold,  you  have  given  me  a  great  dca! 
of  pleasure — more  than  1  can  express.     I — ." 

"  Don't  try  to  exjjress  it,  Q;ieen.  You  have 
given  me  infinitely  more,  I  assure  you." 

Her  splendid  eyes  were  liAed  toward  him, 
and  with  some  sudden  impulse  she  touehed 
her  lips  to  the  hand  he  had  placed  on  her 


shoulder.  Something  like  a  tremor  crossed 
the  doctor's  habitually  stern  mouth  as  he 
looked  at  the  marvellous  beauty  of  the  girl's 
countenance,  and  he  kissed  her  slender  fin- 
gers as  reverently  as  though  he  touched  some- 
thing consecrated. 

"  Irene,  shall  I  take  you  home  in  my  buggy?" 

"  No,  thank  you,  I  would  rather  walk.  Oh! 
Doctor,  I  am  so  much  obliged  to  you." 

She  drew  her  hat  over  her  face,  and  went 
down  the  steps.  Dr.  Arnold  walked  slowly 
across  the  office -floor  with  his  hands  behind 
him ;  the  grim  face  was  placid  now,  the  dark 
furrows  on  his  brow  were  not  half  so  deep, 
and  as  he  paused  and  closed  a  ponderous 
volume  lying  on  the  table,  a  smile  suddenly 
fiiited  over  his  features,  as  one  sees  a  sun- 
beam struggle  through  rifts  in  low  rain-clouds. 
He  jiut  the  book  in  the  case,  and  locked  the 
glass  door.  The  "  Augustinian  Theory  of 
Evil  "  -  was  contained  in  the  volume,  which 
seemed  by  no  means  to  have  satisfied  him. 

"  All  a  maie  worse  than  that  of  Crete  !  I 
will  follow  that  girl;  she  shall  be  my  Ariadne 
in  this  Egyptian  darkness.  Pshaw !  if  His 
Highness  of  Hippo  were  right,  what  would 
become  of  the  world  ?  All  social  organiza- 
tions are  based  (and. firmly  too)  on  man's 
faith  in  man ;  establish  the  universal  de- 
pravity, devilishness  of  the  human  race,  aftd 
lo  !  what  supports  tlic  mighty  social  fabric  ? 
Machiavelism  ?  If  tliat  queer  little  untrained 
freethinker,  Irene,  is  not  pure  and  sinless, 
I  then  there  are  neither  seraphim  nor  cheru- 
j  bim  in  higb  Heaven  J  Cyrus,  brln^  out  my 
buggy." 

In  answer  to  Irene's  knock,  Electra  opened 

I  the  cottage -door  and  ushered  her  into  the 

j  small  room  which  served  as  both  kitchen  and 

dining-room.     Everything   was  scrupulously 

,  neat,  not  a  spot  on  the  bare  polished  lloor,  not 

a   speck  to   dim    the    purity    of   the   snowy 

dimity    curtains,    and    on   the    table    in    tiie 

I  centre  stood  a  vase  filled  with  fresh  fragrant 

■flowers.      \n   a   low   chair   before   the   open 

I  window  sat  the  widow,  netting  a  blue  and 

I  white  nubia.     She  glanced  round  aa  Irene 

entered. 

'•  Who  is  it,  Electra  ?" 
"  Miss  Irene,  aunt." 

"  Sit  down,  Miss  Irene  ;  how  are'  you  to- 
day ?■' 

■      She    spoke    rapidly,   and   for    a    moment 

;  seemed   confused,   then   resumed  lier   work. 

Irene  watched  her  pale,  delicate  fingers,  and 

1  the   long   auburn    lashes   drooping   over  the 

colorless  cheeks,  and,  when  she  looked  up  for 

I  an  instant,  the  visitor  saw  that  the  mild,  meek 

'  brown  eyes  were  sadly  blurred.    Jf  ever  resig- 

I  nation   enthroned  itself  on  a  woman's  brow, 

one  might  have  bowed  before  Amy  Aubrey's 

I  sweet,  placid,  subdued  face.     No  Daniel  was 

[  needed  to  interpret   the  lices  which  sorrow 

bad  printed  around  her  patient,  tremulous 

!  mouth. 


10 


MACARIA. 


«'  Klictra,  come  to  school  l^Ionday.     The 

enclosed  will  pay  your  tuition  for  two  moiitlis 

your  kind  pympatby.'   My  .longer.     Pluase 'don't  hesitate  to  accept  it,  if 


*you  really  love 


'  Your  friend 


Ikexk." 


"  Jlrs.   AuLrcy,  I  am  sorry  to  hear  you 
eyes  are  no  better." 

'•  1  iiank  you  for  } 
sipht  irrows  more  dim  every  day." 

"  I  f>liould  think  n«;t(ing  would  be  "injurious 
td  you  now." 

"  It  h  purely  mechanical ;  I  use  my  eyes 
very  little.  Kledra  arranges  the  colors  for 
mc,  and  I  find  it  easy  work." 

Irene  knelt  down  before  her,  and,  folding  j  stole  up  from  the  mouUlcring,  dusty  crypts  of 
one  of  the  hands  in  both  hers,  said  eagerly:        by-cone  years;  and  jtutting  the  note  in  lier 

"  You  sliau't  sufler  much  longer;  these  veils  ,  porket,  Kiettra  leaned  her  head  against  the 
sh.all  be  taken  cfl'.  Here  is  the  money  to  window  and  tlianked  God  for  the  gift  of  a 
enable  you  to  go  to  New  Orleans  and  consult  true  friend.  Tliinking  of  the  group  she  had 
that  phxsician.  As  soon  as  the  weather  turns  just  left,  Irene  approached  the  gate  and  saw 
cooh-r  you  must  start."  I  that  Ilussell  stood  holding  it  open  for  her  to 

"  Mi.-^s  Irene,  I  can  not  tax  your  generosity  :  pass.     Looking   up  she  stopped,  for  the  ex- 


Mrs.  Aubrey  sat  with  her  face  in  her  hands, 
listening  to  the  mournful,  solemn  voice  tliai 


pres.>^!on  ol"  his  fa.e  friglitencd  and  pained  her. 
•'  KiK"».sclI,  what  is  the  matti'r  V  oh  !  tell  me." 
A  scornful,  defiant  smile  distortwd  his  blood- 
less lips,  but  he  made  no  answer.     IShe  took 
his  hand ;  it  was  cold,  and  the  lingers  were 


so  heavily  ;  I  have  no  cl^im  on  your  goodness. 
Indeed  I—." 

"  Please  don't  refuse  the  money !     You  will 
distix-ss  me  very  much  if  you  do.    Why  should 
you  hesitate  V  if  it  makes  me  happy  and  bene- 
fits you,  why  will  you  decline  it  V     Do  you    clenched* 
think  if  my  eyes  were   in   the  condition   ofj      "  Musscll,  are  you  ill?" 
yours  that  J  would  not  thank  you  to  relieve^!      She  shuddered  at  the  glare  in  his  black 
me  V"  '  *l  eves. 

The  widow  had  risen  hastily,  and  covered 
her  lace  with  her  hands,  while  an  unwonted 
flush  dyed  her  cheeks.  She  irembled,  and 
L-ene  saw  teare  stealing  throuiih  the  fingers 


"Mrs.  Aubrey,  don't  you  think  it  is  your 
duly  to  recover  your  sight  if  possible  :" 
Yeji,  if  I  could  command  the  means.' 


"  I  am  not  ill." 

."Won't  you  tell  your  friend  what  ails  you  ?" 

"  I  have  no  friend  but  my  mothei"." 

"  Oh,  Russell,  Russell !" 

Her  head  drooped,  and  tha  glittering  hair 
swept  as  a  veil  between  them.  The  low  llute- 
like,  pleading  voice  stirred  his  heart,  and  the 


"Yeu  have  the  means;  you  must  emploj-    bjood  surged  over  his  pallid  Ibrehcad. 


them.  There,  I  will  not  take  back  the  money ; 
it  is  yours." 

"  Don't  refuse  it,  antie,  you  will  wound 
Irie,"  pleaded  Klectra. 

How  little  they  understood  or  apprecfated 
the  struggle  in  that  gentle  sufierftr's  heart ; 
how  impossible  for  them  to  realize  the  humil- 
iation she  endured  in  accepting  such  a  gift 
from  the  child  of  Leonard  llumingdon  V" 

With  a  I'altering  voi(;e  she  asked  : 

"  Did  your  lather  send  me  this  money  ?" 

"  No," 

It  was  the  first  time  she  hnd  ever  alluded 
to  bim,  and  Irene  saw  that  some  painful  mcni- 
ory  linked  itself  with  her  father.  Whatvould 
it  he  'i*  There  was  silence  for  a  few  seconds; 
tliei^  Mrs.  Aubrey  took  the  hands  from  her 
face  and  .said:  "  Irene,  I  will  accejjt  your  gen- 
erous ofl'er.  If  my  sight  is  restored,  I  can 
repay  you  some  day  ;  if  not,  I  am  not  too 
jtroud  to  be  under  this  great  obligation  to 
you.  Oh,  Irene  !  I  cant  tell  you  how  umeh 
I  thank  you;  my  heart  is  too  full  for. words." 
She  throw  her  arm  round  the  girl's  waist  and 
strained  her  to  her  bosom,  and  hot  tears  fell 
fast  on  the  wa^•es  of  golden  hair.  A  moment 
after,  Irene  threw  a  tiny  envelope  into  Elec- 
tra's  lap,  and  without  another  wo:-d  glided  out 
of  the  room.  'Jhe  orj)iian  broke  the  seal, 
and  as  she  opened  a  sheet  of  note  pajer  a 
ten- dollar  bill  slipped  out. 


I  have  been  injured  and  insulted.  Just 
now  I  doubt  all  people  and  all  things,  even 
the  justice  and  mercy  of  God." 

"  Russell,  '  shall  not  the  righteous  Judgo  of 
all  the  earth  do  right  V" 

^'  Shall  tlie  rich  ;vnd  llie  unprimiplcd  eter- 
nally trample  upon  the  poor  opid  the  untbrtu- 
nate':'" 

"Who  has  injured  you  ?" 

"  A  meek  looking  man  who  passes  for  a 
Christian,  who  turns  pale  at  the  sound  of  a 
violin,  who  e.xhorts  to  missionary  labors,  and 
iaiks  ollen  about  widows  and  orphans.  Silch 
a  man,  knowing  the  circumstances  that  sur- 
rounc-  me,  my  ])overty,  my  mother's  allliction, 
on  bare  and  most  unwarrantable  su^^picion 
turns  me  out  of  my  situation  as  clerk,  and  en- 
deavors to  brand  my  name  with  infamy.  To- 
day I  stand  disgraced  in  the  eves  of  the  com- 
munity, thanks  to  the  vile  slanders  of  that 
pillar  of  the  church,  Jacob  \N  atson.  Four 
liours  ago,  I  went  to  my  work  quietly,  hope- 
fully ;  but  now  another  spirit  has  entered  and 
posses.'^ed  me.  Irene,"  I  am  desperate.  Do 
you  wonder  ?  It  seems  to  me  ages  have  rolled 
over  me  since  my  mother  kissed  me  this  morn- 
ing; there  is  a  hissing  serpent  in  my  heart 
which  I  have  no  power  to  expel.  I  could 
bear  it  myself,  but  my  mother !  my  noble, 
patient,  suffering  mother!  1  must  go  in,  and 
add    a  yet  heavier  burden  to  those  already 


MACARIA. 


17 


orushinf:;  out  ber  life.  Pleasant  {iflliiff?,  these 
I  bring  lier :  that  her  son  is  disgraced,  branded 
as  a  rogue !" 

There  was  no  moisture  in  the  keen  eye,  no 
tremor  in  the  metallic  ring  of"  his  voice,  no  re- 
laxation of  the  curled  lip. 

"  Can't  you  prove  your  innocence  ?  "Was  it 
money?" 

"  No,  it  was  a  watch ;  my  watch,  which  I 
gave  up  as  security  for  drawing  a  portion  of 
my  salary  in  advance.  It  was  locked  up  in 
the  iron  safe  ;  this  morning  it  was  missing,  and 
they  accuse  nie  of  having  stolen  it." 

He  took  olV  his  hat  as  if  it  oppressed  him, 
and  lo.ssed  back  his  hair. 

*'  What  will  you  do,  Russell  ?" 

"  I  don't,  know  yet." 

"  Oh  !  if  I  could  only  help  you." 

She  clasped  her  hands  over  her  heart,  and 
for  the  first  time  since  her  infancy  tears  rush- 
ed dowrt  her  cheeks.  It  was  painful  to  see 
that  quiet  girl  so  moved,  and  Russell  hastily 
took  the  folded  hands  in  his,  and  bent  his  face 
close  to  hers. 

"  Irene,  the  only  comfort  I  have  is  that  you 
are  my  friend.  Don't  let  them  influence  you 
against  me.  No  matttu"  what  you  may  hear, 
believe  in  me.  Oh,  Irene,  Irene !  believe  in 
me  always !" 

lie  held  her  hands  in  a  clasp  so  tight  that  it 

f)ained  her,  then  suddenly  dropped  them  and 
eft  her.     As  a  pantomime  all  this  passed  be- 
fore Electra's  eyes ;  not  a  Avord  reached  her, 
but  she  knew  that  something  unusual  had  oc- 
curred to  bring  her  cousin  home  at  that  hour, 
and  felt  that  now  he  was  but  the  avant-coXi- 
rier  of  a  new  sorrow.     She  glanced  toward  her 
aunt's  bowed  form,  then  smoUiered  a  groan, 
and  sat  waiting  for  the  blow  to  fall  upon  her. 
Why  spring  to  meet  it?     He  went  to  his  own 
room  first,  and  five,  ten,  fifteen  minutes  rolled  j 
on.     She  listened   to  the  faint  sound  of  his 
lUjts,  and'  knew  that  he  paced  up  and  down 
the  floor;  five  minutes  more  of  crushing  sus-  i 
peiist,  and  he  came   along  the  passage  and  I 
•tood  at  the  do<ir.     She  looked  at  him,  pale,  I 
irect,  and  firm,*and  shuddered  in  titnking  of  j 
the  struggle  wliich  that  calm  exterior  had  cost  , 
bim.     Mrs.  Aubrey  recognized  th«  step,  and  ■ 
lOoked  round  in  surprise.  { 

"  Klectra,  I  certainly  hear  Russell  coming."  | 
He  drew  near  and  touched  her  cheek  with  | 
lis  lips,  saying  tenderly :  i 

"  How  is  my  mother  ?" 

"  Russell,  what  brings  you  home  so  early?"  i 
"  That  is  rather  a  cold  welcome,  mother, 
rat  I   am  not  astonished.     Can  you  bear  to 
lear  «omething  unpleasant?     Here,  put  your  j 
land.s  in  mine  ;  now  lisUn  to  mc-.     "You  know  , 
dnw  fil'ty  dollars  of  my  salary  in  advance,  to  j 
)ay  (;iark<     At  that  time  I  gave  my  watch  to 
dr.  Watson  by  way  of  pawn,   he  seemed  so  ; 
elm  tant  to  let  me  have  thy  money;  you  un-  j 
ersfand,  mother,  why  I  did  not  mention  it  at  I 
he  time.     He  locked  it  up  in  the  iron  safe,  to  i 


which  no  one  ha-s  access  except  him  and  my- 
self Late  yesterday  I  locked  tlie  safe  as 
usual,  but  do  not  remember  whether  the  Avatch 
was  still  there  or  not;  this  morning  Mr.  Wat- 
son missed  it;  we  searched  safe,  desk,  .store, 
could  find  it  nowhere,  nor  the  twenty-dollar 
gold  pii'ce  deposited  at  the  same  time.  No 
other  money  was  missing,  though  the  safe  con- 
tained nearlya  thousand  dollArs.  The  end  of 
it  all  is  that  I  am  accused  as  the  thief,  and  ex- 
pelled in  disgrace  for-^  " 

A  low,  phiintive  cry  escaped  the  widow's 
lip.«,  and  her  head  sank  heavily  on  the  boy's 
shoulder.  Passing  his  arm  fondly  around 
her,  he  kissed  her  white  face,  and  continued 
in  the  same  hushed,  passionless  tone,  like  one 
speaking  under  his  breath,  and  stilling  some 
devouring  i-age: 

"  Mother,  1  need  not  assure  you  of  my  in- 
nocence. You  know  that  I  never  could  be 
giiilty  of  what  is  imputed  to  me ;  but,  not 
having  it  in  my  power  to  prove  my  innocence, 
I  shall  have  to  surt"er  the  disgrace  for  a  season. 
Only  for  a  season,  I  trust,  mother,  for  in  time 
-the  tiuth  must  be  (^iseovered.  I  have  been 
turned  out  of  my  situation,  and,  though  thejr 
have  no  proof"  of  my  guilt,  they-  will  try  to 
brand  me  with  the  disgrace.  But  they  can't 
crush  me ;  so  long  as  there  remains  a  drop  of 
blood  in  my  veins,  I  will  scorn  their  slanders 
and  their  hatred.  Don't  cry,  mother;  your 
tears  hurt  me  more  than  all  my  wrongs.  If 
you  will  only  be  brave,  and  put  entire  confi- 
dence in  me,  I  shall  bear  all  this  infinitel/ 
better.  Look  at  the  bitter  truth,  f"ace  to  fiioe; 
we  have  nothing  more  to  lose.  Poor,  afllicted, 
disgraced,  there  is  nothing  else  on  earth  to 
fear ;  but  there  is  everything  to  hope  for ; 
w.ealthi^  name,  fame,  influence.  This  is  my 
comfort;  it  is  a  grim  philosophy,  born  of  de- 
spair. I  go  forward  f"rom  to-day  like  a  man 
who  comes  out  of  some  fiery  furnace,  and, 
blackened  and  scorched  though  he  be,  looks 
into  the  future  without  apprehension,  feeling 
assured  that  it  can  hold  no  trials  comparabfe 
to  those  already  past.  Herein  I  am  strong; 
but  you  should  have  another  and  far  brighter 
hope  to  rest  upon  ;  it  is  just  such  ordeals  as 
this  for  which  religion  promises  you  strength 
and  consolation.  Mother,  I  have  seen  you 
supported  by  Christian  faith  in  a  darker  hour 
than  <his.  Take  courage,  all  will  be  weH 
some  day." 

For  a  few  momenta  dt>ep  silence  reigned  ia 
the  little  kitchen,  and  only  the  Infinite  eye 
pierced  the  heart  of  the  long  tried  sufferer. 
V>'hen  she  raised  her  head  from  the  boy's 
bosom,  the  face,  though  tear-stained,  waa 
serene,  and,  preaeing  her  lips  twice  to  his,  she 
said  slowly  : 

" '  Beloved,  think  it  not  strange  concerning 
the. fiery  trial  wliich  is  to  try  you;  as  thougn 
some  strange  thing  happened  unto  you.  For 
whom  the  Lord  iovelU  he  chasteneth,  and 
scourgelh  e»ery  son  whom  he  receiveth.'     I. 


18 


MACARIA. 


will  wail  natienUv.  my  M)n,  hopinc  for  proofs 
which  shall  convmci-  the  world  of  yoiir  inno- 
oencc.  I  wii^h  I  rould  tak«;  the  whole  burden 
on  my  shoulders,  and  n  licvc  you,  my  dear 

««  You  have,  mother :  it  ceases  to  crush  me, 
now  tliHt  yiiu  are  voursolf  once  more."     He  ^ 
fpokc  -ivith  dlffirultj-,  however,  as  if  something  • 
stifled  him,  and,  rising,  hastily  poured  out  and 
drank  a  ulass  of  water. 

»•  And  now,  Russell,  sit  down  and  let  me  tell  , 
Tou  H  lit  Lie  that  is  plejisant  and  sunshiny, 
'rhero  i--  still  a  l.ri|.'ht  spot  leR  to  look  upon."  ] 
St«  iilinp  her  hand  into  his,  the  mother  in- 
formed him  of  all  that  had  wcurred  during 
IremV  visit,  and  coneluded  by  laying  the 
mont  V  in  his  palm. 

j:i,'(lia  sat  opposit*?,  watclnng  the  change 
that   '  auK'  over  the  faoe  ?he   loved   best  on 
earth.     Her  large,  eager,  midnight  eyes  noted 
the  (lui A  flush"  and   glad  light  which    over- 
spread his  features;  the  deep  joy  that  kiudh-d 
in   his  tortured   soul;  and   un.-.onsciously  she 
cluKhi  d  her  fingers  till  the  nails  grew  purjjle, 
a»  tlinuuh  striving  to  strangle  some  hideous 
objcti    "thrusting     itself    before    her.       Her 
breat!iin.g  became   labored    and  painful,  her 
»»aze   miire   concentrated  and  searehij)g,  and 
when    her   cousin    exclaimed:  "Oh,  mother! 
she  i^  an  angel!  I  have  always  known  it.  She 
is   Hiniktt  everylx)dy  else!"     Eleetra's  heart 
£iceni<  d  to  stand  still;  and  from  that  moment 
a  sonil'r©  curtain  fell  between  the  girl's  eyes 
and   (Vl's  sunshine.     She  rose,  and  a  silent 
yet  terrible  struggle  took  plac«5  in  her  pas- 
sionate  Boul.     Justice   and  jealousy  wrestled 
bri-fly  ;  she  would  be  just,  though  every  star 
fell  from  her  skv,  and  with  a  (juick,  unti-rtaiu 
step  she  reached  Kuatjell,  thrust  Irene's  note 
into  his  fingers,  and  fled   into  solitude.     An 
hour  later,  Russell  knocked  at  the  door  of  an 
oflice  which  bore  on  a  square  tin  pkitc  ihese 
words,  "  Robert  Campbell,  Attorney  at  Law." 
The  thxjr  was  oidy  partially  closed,  and  as  he 
entered  au    elderly  man    looked  uj»  from  a 
desk,   covered    with    loose   papers   and   oi)en 
volumes  from  which  he  was  evidently  m^iking 
extracts.     The  thin   hair  hung  over  his  fore- 
head as  if  resth:85  fingers  had  ploughed  care- 
lessly through  it,  and,  as  he  kept  one  finger  on 
a  halt-iopied  paragraph,  the    cold  blue  eye 
said  very  plainly,  "  this  is  a  busy  time  with  me ; 
de6i»;itch  your  errand  at  once." 

"  (iOO<l- morning,  Mr.  Campbell;  arc  you 
parti,  ulurlv  eugaged  V" 

"How-d'y-do,  Aubrey.  1  am  generally 
engaged;  confoundedly  busy  this  morning. 
Whal  <lo  you  want "/  ' 

His  pen  resumed  its  work,  but  he  turned  his 
head  as  if  to  listen.  .         „ 

"  1  will  call  again  when  you  are  at  leisure, 
said  Russell,  turning  away. 

"  'J'iat  will  be— next  month— next  year  ;  in 
fine,  postponing  your  visit  indefinitely.  Sit 
down  —  somewhere  —  well  —  clear  those  books 


into  a  corner,  and  let 's  ho.ir  your  busine.<«a. 
I  am  at  your  service  for  ten  minutes  —  talk 
fast." 

He   put  his  pen  behind   his   ear.   crosicd 
his  arms  on  the  desk,  and  looked  expectant. 

"  I  came  here  to  ask  whether  you  wished  to 
employ  any  one  in  your  oflice." 

"And  what  the  deuce  do  you  suppose  I 
want  with  an  ofhee-lad  like  yourself?  To  put 
the  very  books  I  need  at  the  bottom  of  a  pile 
tall  as'the  tower  of  Babel,  and  tear  up  my 
brit;fs  to  kindUi  iJie  fire  or  light  your  cigar? 
No,  thank  you,  Aubrey,  I  tried  that  experi- 
ment to  my  perfect  satisfaction  a  few  months 
ago.  Is  that  all?" 
"  That  is  all,  sir." 

The  boy  rose,  but  the  bitter  look  that 
crossed  his  face  as  he  glanced  at  the  well- 
filled  book-shelvejj  arrested  the  lawyer's  at- 
tention, and  he  added: 

"Why  did  you  leave  Watson,  young  man'/ 

It  is  a  ba<l  plan  to  change  about  in  this  style." 

"  I  was  e.\i>elled  from  my  situation  on  a  foul 

and   most  unjust  accusation.     I    am  seeking 

employment  from  necessity." 

"  Expelled  is  a  dark  vvord,  Aubrey;  it  will 
hardlv  act  as  a  passport  to  future  bituations. 
Expelled  clerks  are  not  in  demand." 

"  Still,  I  must  state  the  truth  nnreservedly." 
"  Let 's  hear  the  whole  business;  sit  down." 
AVithout  hesitation  he  narrated  all  tlie  cir- 
cumstances, once  or  twice  pausing  to  stiil  the 
tempest  of  passion  that  flashed. from  his  eyes. 
While  he  spoke,  j\lr.  CampbeH's  keen  eyes 
seaiched  him  from  head  to  loot,  aud  at  the 
conclusion  he  asked  sharply: 

"  Where  is  the  watch,  do  you  suppose  ?" 
"  Heaven  only  knows.     I  have  a  •  UKpicion, 
I  but  no  right  to  utter  it,  since  I  might  thereby 
I  inflict  a  wrong  equal  to  that  from  which  I  now 
'  sufl'er."  .  ^^ 

"  It  is  a  dark  piece  of  business  as  it  stands.' 
"  Yes,  but  time  will  clear  it  up." 
"  See  here,  Aubrey,  1  have  noticed  you  two 
or  three  times  in  the  court-house  listening 
to  .some  oi"  mv  harangues.  I  knew  your  father, 
and  I  should"  like  to  help  you!  It  seems  to  me 
you  might  make  better  use  of  your  talents 
tlian  you  are  doing.  And  yet,  if  you  rise  it 
will  be  over  greater  obstacles  than  most  men 
Burmuunt.     Do  you  understand  me  ?  ' 

"  I  do ;   lor  I  am  too  painfully  aware  of  the 

preju<iic(^    against  which   I   have  to  contend. 

hut   if  I  live,  I   suall   lift  myself  out  of  this 

pool  where  malice  and  hate  have  thrust  me." 

"  What  do  you  propose  to  doV" 

"  Work  at  the  plough  or  before  the  anvil,  if 

nothing  else  can  be  done  to  support  mv  mother 

and    cousin;    imd   as  &oon  as  I  possibly  can 

8tu«ly   law.     This  is  my  plan,   ami   for   two 

years   I   have  been   pursuing  my  Latin  and 

Greek   with    an    eye   to   accomplishing    the 

scheme."  .  . 

"  I  see  fate  has  thumped  none  of  your  ongi- 

!  nal  obitiuacy  out  of  you.     Aubrey,  suppose 


MACARI.-i. 


19 


I  shut  my  eyes  to  the  watch  transaction,  and 
take  vou  into  my  office  ?" 

"  If  so,  I  shall  do  my  duty  faithfully.  But 
you  said  you  did  not  need  any  one  here,  and 
though  I  am  anxious  to  find  work  I  do  not 
expect  or  desire  to  be.  taken  in  from  charity. 
I  intend  to  earn  my  wages,  sir,  and  from  your 
own  a<?connt  I  should  judge  you  had  very 
little  use  for  an  assistant." 

"  Humpli !  a  bountiful  share  of  pride  along 
with  prodigious  obstinacy.  Though  I  am  a 
lawyer,  I  told  you  the  truth ;  I  have  no 
earthly  use  for  such  assistants  as  I  have  been 
plagued  with  for  several  years.  In  the  main, 
office-boys  are  a  nuisance,  comparable  only  to 
the  locuBts  of  Egypt ;  I  washed  my  hands  of 
the  whole  tribe  months  since.  Now,  I  have  a 
negro  to  attend  to  my  office,  make  fires,  etc., 
and  if  I  could  only  get  an  intelligent,  am- 
bitious, honorable,  trustworthy  young  man, 
he  would  be  a  help  to  me.  I  had  de- 
.spaircd  of  finding  such,  but,  on  the  whole, 
I  rather  like  you  ;  believe  you  can  suit  me 
exactly  if  you  will,  and  I  am  disposed  lo  give 
you  a  trial.  Sit  down  here  and  eopy  this  ])ar- 
agraph  }  let  me  see  what  .sort  of  hieroglyphics 
I  shall  have  to  decipher  if  I  make  you  my 
copyist." 

Russell  silently  complied,  and  after  a  care- 
ful examination  it  seemed  the  chirography 
was  satisfactory. 

"  Look  there,  Aubrey,  does  that  array  fright- 
en you  ?"  »  '      " 

He  pointed  to  the  opposite  side  of  the  room, 
where  legal  documents  of  every  shape  and  size 
were  piled  knee-deep  for  several  yards. 

"  Thoy  look  formidable,  sir,  but  nothing 
would  afford  me  more  pleasure  than  to  fathom 
their  mysteries." 

"And  what  security  can  you  give  me  that 
the  instant  my  back  is  turned  you  will  not 
quit  my  work  and  go  off  to  my  books  yonder, 
which  I  notice  you  have  been  Cying  very 
greedil}-." 

"  No  seenrity,  sir,  but  the  promise  of  an 
honest  soul  to  do  its  work  faithfully  and  un- 
tiringl)'.  Mr.  Camphill,  I  understand  my  po- 
sition thoroughly;  I  know  only  too  well  that  I 
have  everything  to  make,  an  honorable  name, 
an  unblomi'hed  reputation,  and,  relying  only 
on  myself.  I  expect  to  help  myself'.  If  you 
ireally  n<(Ml  nn  assistant,  and  think  me  trust- 
worthy. I  will  be  very  glad  to  serve  you,  and 
shall  morit  your  confidence.  I  come  to  you 
wnder  adverse  circumstaneos,  with  a  tarnished 
character,  ami  of  course  you  feel  some  hesi- 
tancy in  employing  me.  "I  have  eon'^ealed 
nothing;  you  are  acquainted  with  all  the  facts, 
ami  must  decide  accordingly." 

There  was  nothing  pleadin'g  in  his  tone  or 
mien,  but  a  proud,  desperate  calmness,  unu- 
sual in  one  o(  his  ago.  When  a  truly  honest, 
noble  soul  meets  an  equal,  barriers  of*^  position 
and  age  melt  like  snow-flakes  in  sunshine,  all 
extraneous  circumstances  fall  aw3y,  and,  di- 


vested of  pomp  or  rags,  as  the  case  may  be, 
the  full,  undimirled  maieety  of  spirit  greets 
spirit,  and  clear-eyed  sytt^thy,  soaring  above 
the  dross  and  dust  of  worldly  conventional- 
ities, knits  them  in  bonds  lasting  as  time. 
Looking  into  the  resolute  yet  memncholy  face 
before  him,  the  lawyer  forgot  the  poverty  and 
disgrace  clinging  to  his'^'name,  and  leaning 
forward  gi-asped  his  hand. 

"Aubrey,  you  and  I  can  work  peacejibly  to- 
gether;  I  value  your  candor,  I  like  your,  reso- 
lution. Come  to  me  on  Monday-,  and  in  the 
matter  of  salary  you  shall  find  me  liberal 
enough.  I  think  you'  told  me  you  had  a 
cousin  as  well  as  your  mother  to  "support ;  I 
sLall  not  forget'  it.  Now,  good-raorning,^and 
ppave  me  unless  you  de.^©  to  accumulate  >vork 
for  yourself."  '         *  / 

People  called  Mr.  Campbell  "miserly," 
"egotistie,"  and  "selfish."  These  are  harsh 
adjectives,  and  the  public  frequently  applies 
them  with  culpable  haste  and  uncharitable- 
ness,  for  there, is  an  astonishing  proclivity  in 
human  nature  to  detract,  to  carp,  to  spy  out, 
and  magnify  faults.  If  at  all  prone  to  gener- 
ous deeds,  Mr.  Campbell  certainly  failed  to 
platrard  them  in  public  places;  he  had  never 
given  any  large  amount  to  any  particular 
church,  institution,  or  society,  butthe  few  who 
knew  him  well  indignantly  denied  the  charge 
of  penuriousness  preferred  by  the  community. 
A  most  unsafe  criterion  is  public  estimation ; 
it  canonizes  many  an  arch-hjpocrite,  and  mar- 
tyi'5  many  a  saint. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

From  early  childhood  Irene  had  experi- 
enced a  .sensation  of  loneliness.  I)oubtle»i 
the  loss  of  her  mother  enhanced  this  feeling, 
but  the  peculiarity  of  her  mental  organization 
would  have  necessitated  it  even  under  happier 
aurpices.  Iler  intellect  was  of  the  masculine 
order,  acute  and  logical,  rather  deficient  in 
the  imaginative  faculties,  but  keenly  analyti- 
cal. It  is  an  old  predicate  that  women  are  de- 
ductionists,  that  womanly  intuitions  are  swift 
and  infallible.  In  richly  -  endowed  female 
minds  it  not  unfrequently  happens  that  tedi- 
ous, rcfiective  processes  are  ignored;  but  Irene 
was  a  patient  rathei;  than  brilliant  thinker, 
and  with  singular  perseverance  searched  i.'\cry 
nook  and  cranny,  and  sifted  every  phase  of 
the  subject  presented  for  investigation.  Her 
conclusions  were  never  hasty,  and  eonscqu'ent- 
ly  rarely  unsound.  From  the  time  her  baby- 
fingers  first  grasped  a  primer  she  became  « 
.student:  dolls  and  toys  such  as  constitute  the 
happiness  of  most  children  had  never  po.^sessed 
any  attraction  for  her,  and  before  she  was 
eight  years  old  she  made  the  library  her  favor- 
ite resort.  Shi'  would  climb'  upon"  the  moroc- 
co-covered table  where  stood  two  globes,  one 
celestial,  the  other  terrestrial,  and  spend  hours 


to 


MACARIA. 


in  decip}i»»nng  the  strange,  heatln.ni'^h  figures  i  well  known  that  Jlr.  ITuntlngtlon  had  pledged 
twiued  among  the  stars.  When  weary  oflnH  daughter's  hand  to  his  sister's  son.  The 
Biudying  the  ludexdBfithe  thornioinrter  and  |  age  of  infant  betrothals  has  i).-i5<!ed  away, 
barometer,  and  wont^iftig  why  tlie  quiik.«ilver  '  consecjucntly  thi.i  rare  instanee  gave  rise  to  a 
varied  with  sunshine  and  shower,  she  would-  deal  of  gossiping  comment.  How  the  matter 
throw  henHj^^wn  on  the  floor  and  fall  asleep  beeame  public  he  never  knew  ;  "probably 
over  the  quanK  pictures  in  an  old  Knglish  en-  Sparrowgrasse's  "carrier  pigeon  "  migrated 
cjclopaodia,  nnmlxriMj  thirty  volumes.  She  southward,  for  it  is  now  no  pneommon  thing 
haunted  this  room,  anfT'grew  uj)  among  books  to  find  one  in  onr  cities  and  country  towns; 
centuries  old.  Thus  untiWier  tenth  year  there  and  at  all  event*  Mr.  Huntingdon  soon  found 
was  no  authority  exerted  over  her,  and  the  ,  that  hi.s  private  domestic  ailairs  were  made  an 
strongjir^flective  tendency  of  her  mind  rapid-  ;  ordinary  topic  of  conversation  in  social  circles, 
ly  developed  itself.  Tliis  was  an  almorHial  j  Irene  liad  never  been  oflicialiy  appri.^ed  of 
condition,  and  indisputably  an  unfortunate  I  her  dextiny,  but  surmised  very  accurately  the 
training,  and  perhaps  in  after  years  it  might  '  true  .state  of  the  case.  Uetwcen  the  two 
Hrvc  been  better  had  she  spent  the  sea.son  '  cousins  tiicre  exisleii  not  the  rtlightest  con- 
of  careleso,  thoughtliM,  childliood  in  ehildisl|^ceniality  of  taste  or  dispo.«ition  ;  not  a  sympa- 
sjK)rfs  and  childl)oo<lV'wonted  ways,  for  anx-  thetic  link,  save  the  tie  of  relationship.  On 
ions  inquiry  an<l  tedious  investigations  come  \  her  j)art  there  was  a  nioderat(*.shaie  of  cousin- 
soon  enough  with  maturity.  '  ly  alFcction  ;  on  his,  as  much  love  and  tender- 
She  was  not  an  enthusiastic,  impulsive  nat-  ,  ness  as  his  .seUi.'h  nature  was  capable  of  fecl- 
nre,  fitful  in  moo<]ineis  or  ecstacy,  inclined  to  ing.  They  rarely  quarrelled  as  most  children 
pas.-ionatc  demonstrations  of  any  kind;  but  do,  for  when  (as  frccpivntly  happened)  he 
from  int'aney  evinced  a  calm,  equable  temper-  |  flew  info  a  rage  and  tried  to  tyrannize,  sho 
ament,  uniformly  generous  and  unselfish,  but  scorned  to  retort  in  any  way,  and  generally 
most  thoroughly  firm,  nay  obstinate,  in  any  locked  him  out  of  the  library.  .  What  she 
matter  irivolTing  principle,  or  conflit!ting  with  thought  of  her  father's  intentions  concerning 
her  opinions  of  pi  epriety.  How  she  obtained  herself,  no  one  kijew  ;  slie  never  alluded  to 
these  notions  of  right  and  wrong  in  minor  de-  the  subjwt,  and  if  in  a  frolicsome  mood  Hugh 
tails,  was  a  subject  of  some  mystery.  Thev  '  broai  hcd  it,  she  invariably  cut  the  discussion 
were  not  the  result  of  education  in  the  ordi-  siiort.  When  he  went  to  college  in  a  distant 
nary  acceptation  of  that  term,  for  they  had  state,  she  felt  infinitely  relieved,  and  during 
never  been  .in.sti!led  by  anybody;  and  like  a  his  vacations  secluded  herself  ax  mucl*  as  j)o*- 
wood-flow^r  in  some  secluded  spot,  she  lived,  '  sible.  Yet  the  girl's  heart  was  >7arm  and 
rrew,  and  expanded  her  nature,  without  any  clinging;  she  loved  her  father  devotedly,  and 
influences  to  bias  or  color  her  views.  In  her  .  loved  most  intensely  IClectra  <^ilruy,  whom  she 
iiromis'uous  reading  she  was  quite  as  apt  to  had  first  met  at  school.  They  were  nearly 
imbibe  poisonous  as  healthy  sentiments,  and  the  same  age,  clasiinates,  and  firm  iViemis. 
knowing  that  she  had  been  blessed  with  few  ;  Tiiat  .she  was  beautiful,  Irene  of  course  knew 
religious  instructions,  her  fatlii;r  often  wonder-  i  quite  as  well  a.s  her  father  or  any  one  else; 
cd  at  the  rigidness  of  her  code  for  seif-regu- 1  how  could  she  avoid  knowing  itV  Froni  her 
lation.  Miss  Margaret  considered  her  "  a  .  cradle  she  had  been  called  "  Queen  "  and 
strange  little  thing,"  and  rarely  interlered  j  "  licauty  ;"  all  her  accpiaintances  llattered  her 
with  her  jilans  in  any  respect,  while  her  father  — strangers  commented  on  her  loveliness  ;  she 
seemed  to  take  it  for  nrranted  tliat  she  requir-  no  more  doubted  it  than  the  fact  of  her  exist- 
ed no  looking  after.  He  knew  that  her  beauty  i  ence  ;  and  often  stopped  before  the  large  par- 
was  extraordinary;  ho  was  proud  of  the  i'act;  lor  mirrorx  and  admired  her  own  image,  just 
and  having  provided  her  with  a  good  mlisic  as  she  would  have,  examined  and  admired  and 
ma.ster,  and  sent  hei-  to  the  best  school  in  the  ,  enjoyed  one  of  the  elegant  azalca.i  or  j)clar- 
connty,  he  left  her  to  employ  her  leisure  as  i  goniums  in  the  gi-eenhouse.  I  repeat  it,  sho 
in;  lin'ation  pro']q)ted.  Occasionally  her  will  j  prized  and  enjoyed  her  Iovclinc$«,  imlohe  was 
conflicted  with  his,  and  more  than  once  he  not  vain.  iSlie  was  no  more  .spoiled  by  adula- 
found  it  impossible  to  make  her  yield  assent  to  tion  than  a  meek  and  snowy  camclia,  or  one  of 
Lis  wishes.  To  the  outward  oliserrances  of  those  immense  golden-eyed  pansies  which  a»- 
obediciiee    and   respect    she    submitted,   but  i  tonish  and  deliglit  visitors  at  the  hot-houses  on 


wheiv^'ver  these  difl'ercnces  occurred  he  felt 
that  in  the  end  .she  was  uneon(juercd.  Incon- 
sistent as  it  may  appear,  though  fretted  for  the 
time  by  her  firmness,  he  loved  her  the  more 
for  her  "wilfulness,"  as  he  termed  it;  and 
despotic  and  exacting  though  he  certainly 
was  in  many  respects),  he  stood  somewhat  in 
awe  of  his  pure-hearted,  calm  -  eyed  child. 
His  ward  and  nephew,  Hugh  Seymour,  had 
resided  with  him  for  sercral  years,  and  it  was 


Long  Islanil.  God  conferred  marvellous  beauty 
on  her,  and  she  was  grateful  for  the  gift — but 
to  the  niiserable  weaknesses  of  rauity,  she  was 
a  stranger.  In  the  midst  of  books  and  flowers 
bhe  was  happy,  and  sei'ined  to  ilesiro'  no  com- 
panions but  Jm-cIius  and  Paragon.  She  rode 
every  day  when  the  weather  permitted,  and 
tlie  jetty  horse  with  its  graceful  yOung  rider, 
followed  by  the  slender,  silky  greyhound,  was 
a  familiar  spectacle  in  the  vicinity  of  her  home. 


MACARIA. 


21 


She  knew  every  hill  and  ralley  within  ten 
s  miles  of  tho  town  ;  could  tell  where  the  rich- 
est, rrirest  honeysuckles  grew,  wliere  the  yel- 
low jasmine  clambered  in  greatest  profusion, 
Rnd  always  found  the  earliest  sprays  of  gray- 
'  beard  that  powilered  the  forest.  Often  Mr. 
Huntingdon  had  ordered  his  hor:'o,  and  gone 
Out  in  the  dusky  twilight  to  search  .for  her, 
fearing  that  some  disaster  had  overtaken  his 
darling  ;  and  at  such  times  met  Erebus  laden 
with  her  favorite  flowers.  These  were  the 
things  she,  loved,  and  tlius  independent  of  so- 
ciety, yet  conscious  of  her  isolation,  she  grew 
up  what  nature  intended  her  to  be.  As' 
totally  different  in  clmracter  as  appearance 
was  Electra  Grey.  Rather  smaller  and  much 
thinner  than  Irene,  with  shining  purplish 
black  hair,  large,  sad,  searching  black  eyes, 
from  which  there  was  no  escape,  a  pale  olive 
complexion,  and  full  crimson  lips  that  rarely 
smiled.  The  forehe;vl  was  broad  and  promi- 
nent, and  rendered  very  peculiar  by  the  re- 
markable width  between  the  finely -arched 
brows.  The  serene  purity  characteristic  of 
Irene's  features  was  entirely  wanting  in  tl\is 
face,  which  woijld  have  seemed  Jewish  in  its 
contour,  but  for  the  Grecian  nose;  and  the 
melancholy  yet  fiuseinating  eyes  haunted  the 
beholder  with  their  restless,  wistful,  far-reaeli- 
ing  expression.  Electra  was  a  dreamer,  richly 
gifted ;  di.-^satisfied  because  she  could  never 
attain  that  unreal  world  which  her  busy  brain 
kept  constantly  before  her.  The  child  of 
genius  is  rarely,  if  ever,  a  happy  one — 

'•  Heaven  lies  about  ug  in  our  infancy." 

If  so,  its  recollections  cling  tenaciously  to 
those  who,  like  Ele-i:tra,  seek  continually  for 
the  airy  castles  of  an  ideal  realm.  Her  vivid 
imagination  .shaped  and  painted,  but,  as  too 
often  happens,  her  eager  blood  and  bone 
fingers  could  not  grasp  the  glories.  The  thoh- 
saud  cares,  hards'.iips,  and  rough  handlings  of 
reality  struck  cold  and  jarring  on  her  sensi- 
tive, highly-strung  nature.  She  did  not  com- 
plain; murmuring  words  had  never  crossed 
her  lips  in  the  hearing  of  any  who  knew  her; 
she  loved  her  aunt  ti>o  well  to  speak  of  sor- 
row or  disappointment.  Fourteen  years  had 
taught  her  an  unusual  amount  of  stoicism, 
but  sealed  lips  can  not  sepulchre  grief,  and 
trials  have  a  language  which  will  not  be  rb- 
pres.«cd  when  the  mouth  is  at  rest.  She 
looked  not  gloomy,  nor  yet  quite  unhappy, 
but  like  one  who  sees  obstacles  mountain-liigh 
loom  between  her  and  the  destined  goal,  and 
asks  only  permission  to  press  on.  lies  was 
a  passionate  nature ;  fierce  blood  beat  in  her 
▼eins,  and  would  not  always  be  bound  by 
icy  fetters.  There  was  no  serene  plateau  of 
feeling  where  she  could  repose  ;  she  enjoyed 
keenly,  ra[)turously,  and  suffered  acutely,  fear- 
fully. Unfortunately  fcr  her.  she  had  only 
IJimalayan  solitudes,  sublime  in  their  dazzlinrf 
height,  or  valleys  of  Tophet,  appalling  with 


She  knew  whejgin  she 
"patl»- 


flame  and.  phantom,  fcihe  knew  wh^i 
was  gifted,  she  saw  whither  her  nan**^" 
way  led,  and  panted  to  set  her  littJe  feet  m 
the  direction  of  the  towering  steeps  crowned 
with  the  temple  of  art.  To  be  an  artist;  to 
put  on  canvas  the  grand  and  imperijikble 
images  that  crowded  her  braiiT,  and  Iflftost 
maddened  her  because  she  could  not  give 
them  tangible  form ;  this  was  the  clay-dream 
spanning  her  life  like  a  how  of  proraise,but 
fading  slowly  as  years  thickened  o'er  her  head, 
and  no  helping  hand  cleared  the  choked  path. 
"  P.overty  !  poverty!"  Many  a  night  she  buri<?d 
her  face  under  the  pillow,  and  hissed  the 
word  through  closed  teeth,  fearful  of  disturb- 
ing the  aunt,  who  slumbered  at  her  side. 
Poverty !  poverty  I  What  an  intolerable  chain 
it  binds  around  aspiring  souls !  And  yet 
the  world's  great  thinkers  have  felt  this  iron 
in  their  ficsh,  and,  bursting  the  galling  bonds, 
have  carved  their  way  to  eminence,  to  im- 
mortality. It  is  a  lamentable  and  significant 
truth  tiiat,  with  a  few  honorable,  noble  ex- 
ceptions, wealth  is  the  Cannae  of  American 
intellect.  Poverty  is  a  rigid  school,  and  the 
sessions  are  long  and  bitter;  but  the  men 
and  women  who  graduate  therein  come  forth 
with  physical  frames  capable  of  enduring  all 
hardships,  with  hearts  habituated  to  disap- 
pointment and  fortified  against  the  rcbufls  of 
fortune,  with  intellectii  trained  by  patient, 
laborious,  unbending  application*  The  ten- 
derly-nurtured child  of  wc'dth  and  luxury 
very  naturally  and  reasonably  shrinks  from 
difiicultics;  but  increase  the  obft^les  in  the 
path  of  a  son  or  daughter  of  penury,  inured 
to  trial,  and  in  the  same  ratio  yon  strengthen 
his  or  her  ability  and  determination  to  sur- 
mount them. 

Electra's  love  of  drawing  had  early  dis- 
played it.self;  fii-st,  in  «trange,  weird  figures 
ou  her  slate,  then  in  her  copy-book,  on  every 
slip  of  paper  which  she  could  lay  her  hands 
upon ;  and,  finally,  for  want  of  more  suitable 
material,  she  scrawled  all  over  the  walls  of 
the  little  bed-room,  to  the  great  horror  of  her 
aunt,  who  spread  a  coat  of  whitewash  over 
the  child's  frescos,  and  bogged  her  to  be  guilfy 
of  no  such  conduct  in  future,  as  Mr.  Clark 
might  with  great  justice  sue  for  damages-  In 
utter  humiliation,  Electra  retreated  to  the 
garden,  ;uid  here,  after  a  shower  had  left  the 
sandy  walks  trhite  and  smooth,  she  would 
sharpentejbit  of  pine,  and  draw  figures  aod 
faces  oflffeill^conceivable  and  inconceivable 
shapes.  Chaffing  to  find  hH|ldius  engaged 
one  Sunday  afternoon,  Ru^^^Lpplied  her 
Avith  a  package  of  drawing-i^^HLnd  pencils. 
So  long  as  these  last<?d  shflPwas  perfectly 
happy,  but  unluckily  their  straightened  cir- 
cumstances admitted  of  no  such  expenditure, 
and  before  many  weeks  she  was  agam  without 
materials.  She  would  not  tell  Rus)»ell  that 
£.ho  had  exhausted  his  package,  ^ml  passed 
slei'pfcss  nights  trying  to  devise  some  method 


MACARIA. 


bj  which  she  could  aid  herself.  It  was  posi-  ;  charge  of  her,  and  the  day  of  departure  was 
tiT^Mtture  for  her  to  sit  in  8choi->l  and  see  j  fixed.  Klectra  packed  the  little  trunk,  saw  it 
the  TTOwinpf-master  go  round,  pivinj:  lessons  :  de|K)sited  on  the  top  of  the  stajiC,  in  the 
on  this  side  and  that,  skipping  over  her  e>\'ry  \  dawn  of  an  Oetoher  morninji  saw  her  aunt 
time,  be<au3e  her  aunt  could  not  aflbrd  the  ,  comfortably  seated  beside  Mr.  Ilill,  and  in 
exU;^  thn-ti  dollars.  How  l()n)i;i..ply  (lie  eyes  another  moment  all  had  vaui.>hed.  In  the 
foptarf-d  the  ma«t»r's  form,  how  liun;;rily  they  afternoon  of  that  day,  on  returning  from 
d«M>lt  Tipoii,  tlie  sketches  hi;  leani  d  over  to  s«liool.  Klectra  went  to  the  bureau  and,  un- 
examine  ifffi  retoueh  V  J*'re(juently  during  lorkiiig  a  drawer,  took  out  a  small  paper  box. 
drawing-hohrshe  would  sit  with  lier  head  bent  [t  coiilained  a  miniature  of  ber  father,  set  in 
down  pretending  to  studv,  but  the  pages  of  a  hand5ome  gold  frame.  She  knt  w  it  had 
the  book  were  generally  \)listired  with  tears,  been  her- motht-r's  most  valued  trinket;  her 
which  no  eye  but  the  Fatlier's  looked  upon.  ,  .lunl  had  carefully  kept  it  for  her,  and  as 
There  was,  however,  one  enjoyment  which  often  as  the  temptation  assailed  her  she  had 
nothing  could  steal  from  her;  the  town  eon-  resisted;  but  now  the  longing  for  money 
lained  two  book-slores,  and  here  she  was  wont  triumjihed  over  every  other  fceiirg.  Having 
to  Jinger  over  tlie  numerous  engravings  aiid  touched  the  spring,  she  took  a  knife  and  cau- 
oeca.sional  oil  paintings  they  boasted.  The  tiously  removed  the  bit  of  ivory  beneath  the 
proprietors  and  deiks  seemed  rather  pleased  ght<s,  then  deposited  the  two  last  in  the  bo.\, 
than  otherwise  by  the  silent  homage  she  j)aid  i  put  the  gold  frame  in  her  j)ovket,  and  went 
their  pictures,  and,  except  to  tender  her  a  I  out  to  a  jewelry  store.  As  several  persons 
seat,  no  one  ever  interfered  with  her  exami-  ,  had  preceded  her,  she  leaned  against  the 
nations.  One  engraving  interested  her  jiar-  :  counter,  and,  while  waiting,  watched  with 
ticularly;  it  represented  St.  John  on  Patmos,  some  curiosity  the  movements  of  one  of  the 
writing  B^velations.  She  went  as  usual  one  ,  gold,  miths,  who,  with  a  glass  over  one  eye, 
Saturday  morning  for  another  look  at  it,  but  ,  was  engaged  in  repairing  watches.  Some 
a  different  design  hung  in  its  place  ;  sho  j  had  been  taken  from  their  cases,  others  were 
glanced  around,  and  surmising  the  object  of  |  untouched ;  and  as  her  eyes  p.assed  swiitljr 
her  search,  tiie  proprietor  told  her  it  had  j  ovei-  the  latter,  they  were  suddenly  riveted  to 
been  sold  the  day  before.  An  expression  of!  a  massive  gold  one  lying  .somewliat  apart.  A 
sorr.iw  crossed  her  face,  as  though  she  had  ■  half-.smothered  e.\clamation  caused  thework- 
aM.stAincd  an  irreparable  lo.^s,  and,  drawing  i  man  to  turn  round  and  look  at  her;  but  in  an 
her  bonne^|»wn,  she  went  .>«lowly  homeward.  .  instant  she  calmed  herself,  and,  thinking  it  a 
Amid  all  JSese  yc'arnings  and  aspirations  .•<he  mere  outbreak  of  impatience,  he  resumed  his 
turned  cMJbantly  to  Ku.sscU,  with  a  worship-  ;  employnieht.     Just  tlion  one  of  the  proprie- 

tiing  lovo^HRt  knew  no  bounds.  She  loved  ;  tors  approached,  and  said  politely,  "  1  am 
ler  meek,  affectionate  aunt,  as  well  as  most  I  sorry  we  have  kept  you  waiting,  miss.  What 
natures  love  their  mothers,  and  did  all  in  her  !  can  I  do  for  ypu  V" 
power  to  lighten  her  labors,  but  her  affectiou  i  '•  What  is  this  worth  ?' 
for  Russell  bordered  On  adoration.  lu  a  char- |  She  laid  the  locket  down  on  the  counter, 
acter  so  exacting  and  pa.'^.sionate  as  hers  there  i  and  looked  up  at  liim  with  eyes  that  sparkled 
in  necessarily  much  of  jealousy,  and  thus  it  •  wry  joyouslv  he  tIiou:rht.     lie  examined  it  a 


Oame  to  pass  tliat,  on  the  day  of  Irene's  visit 
to  the  cottage,  the  horrible  suspicion  took 
possession  of  lier  that  he  loved  Irene  better 
than  herself.  True,  she  was  very  young,  but 
childish  hearts  fee!  as  keenly  as  those  of  ma- 
turer  years;  and  Elecira  endured  more  agony 
during  that  <lay  than  in  all  of  her  past  life. 
Had  Irene  been  other  than  she  w;us,  in  every 
raspect^  she  would  probably  have  hated  her 
cordially;  as  matters  stood,  she  buried  the 
guspicion  deep  in  her  own  heart,  and  kept 
M  much  out  of  cvei-ybody**  way  ^jftossiblt. 
Days  and  weeks  passed  very  weWly ;  sin- 
busied  herselLwith  her  text-boql^B,  tmd,  when 
the  les.sons-hM*bccn  r»!cit"d,  drew  all  over 
the  margins — hoie  a  hand,  there  an  entire 
arm,  now  and  then  a  face,  .•sad-eyed  as  Fate. 

Mrs.  Aubrey's  eye  becauie  so  blurred  that 
finally  she  could  not  leave  the  house  without 
having  some  one  to  guide  her,  and,  as  cold 
weather  had  now  arrived,  preparations  were 
made  for  her  journey.  Mr.  Hill,  who  was 
going  to  New  Orleans,  kindly  offered  tc^take* 


moment,  and  said  lathe.r  drily  : 

"  It  is  worth  little  or  nothing  to  us,  though 
you  may  prize  it." 

"  If  I  were  to  buy  another  just  like  it,  would 
you  charge  me  '  little  or  nothing  ?'  " 

He  smiled  good-humorcdly. 

'*  liuying  and  selling  are  different  things, 
don't  you  know  that?  Come,  tell  me  what 
you  want  to  sell  this  for?" 

"  liecause  I  want  some  money." 

"  You  are  Mrs.  Aubrey's  uiccc,\I  believe  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Well,  how  do  I  know,  in  the  first  place, 
that  it  belongs  to  you  ?  Jewellers  have  to 
be  very  particular  about  what  they  buy." 

She  crimsoned,  and  <lrcw  herself  proudly 
away,  from  llie,  counter,  then  smiled,  and  held 
out  her  hand  for  the  locket. 

"  It  is  mine ;  it  held  my  father's  miniature, 
but  I  took  it  out  because  1  want  a  paint-box, 
and  thought  I  could  sell  this  case  for  enough 
to  buy  one.  It  was  my  mother's  once ;  here 
are  hor  initials  on  the  back,  II.  G.,  Harriet 


MACARIA. 


2S 


Grey.  But  of  course  you  don't  know  whether 
I  am  tellinii;  the  truth ;  I  will  bring  my  cousin 
with  me,  he  can  prove  it.  Sir,  are  you  so 
particular  about  everything  you  buy?" 

'♦  We  try  to  be." 

Again  her  eyes  sparkled;  she  bowed,  and 
left  the  store. 

Once  in  the  street,  she  hurried  to  .Mr. 
Campbell's  office,  ran  up  the  stejjs,  and  rapped 
loudly  at  the  door. 

*•  Come  in  !"  thundered  the  lawyer. 

yiie  stoj)pcd  oji  the  tlu-eshold,  glanced 
round,  and   said  timidly: 

"  I  want  to  see  Russell,  if  you  please." 

"  Russell  is  at  the  post-olBce.  Have  you 
any  particular  spite  at  my  door,  that  you 
belabor  it  in  that  style  ?  or  do  you  suppose  I 
am  as  deaf  as  a  gate-post  ?" 

"I  beg  your  pardon;  I  did  not  mean  to 
startle  you,  sir.  I  was  not  thinking  of  either 
you  Or  your  tloor." 

3he  sprang  down  the  stops  to  wait  on  the 
sidewalk  for  her  cousin,  and  met  hijn  at  the 
entrance. 

"  Oh,  Russoll  !  I  have  found  your  watch." 

A  raj-  of  light  seemed  to  leap  Irom  his  eyes 
as  he  seized  iier  hand. 

-  Where  V" 

"  At  ]\Ir.  Brown's  jewelry  store." 

"  Thank  (;od !" 

He  W(  nt  up  the  stairway,  delivered  the 
letters,  and  came  back,  accompanied  by  Mr. 
Campbell. 

"  This  is  my  cousin,  Electra  Grey,  Mr. 
Campbell." 

"  So   I   inferred   from   the   unceremonious 
.  assault  she  made  on  my  door  just  now.     How- 
ever, sljake  hands,  little  lady  ;  it  seems  there  is 
some  reason  for  your  haste.    Let 's  hear  about 
this  precious  watch  business." 

She  simply  told  what  she  had  seen.  Pres- 
ently Russc'li  said  : 

"  But  horf  did  you  happen  there,  Electra  ?" 

"  Your  gooil  angel  sent  me,  I  suppose ;  — " 
and  ahe  added  in  a  whi.-iper,  "  I  will  tell  you 
some  other  tinif." 

On  re-entering  the  store,  she  walked  at 
once  to  the  workman's  'orner,  and  pointed 
out  the  watch. 

"  Yes,  it  is  mine.  I  wouliMCnow  it  among  a 
thousand." 

"  How  can  you  identify  it,  Aubrey?" 

He  immediately  gave  the  number,  and 
name  of  the  manufactur  r.  and  described  the 
interior  tracery,  not  oniittiug  the  quant iiv  of 
jewels.  Mr.  Campbell  turned  to  the  I 
tor  (the  same  gentleman  with  whofla  i  i 
had  conversed),  and  briefly  recapUralat^^d  the 
circumstances  which  had  oeeurreJ  in  connec- 
tion with  the  watch.  Mr.  Brown  listened  at- 
tentively, then  requested  Russell  to  point  out 
the  parlienlar  one  that  resembled  his.  He  did 
so, and  on  examination,  the  number,date.  name, 
and  all  the  marks  corresponded  so  exactly  that 
no  doubt  rSmaiued  on  the  jeweller's  mind. 


"  Young  man,  you  say  you  were  accused  of 
stealing  your  own  watch  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  I  will  trv'  to  clear  your  name.  This 
watch  was  brought  here  several  weeks  since, 
while  I  was  absent.  I  am  veiy  guarded  in 
such  matters,  and  require  my  young  men  here 
to  take  a  certificate  of  the  name  and  place  of 
residence  of  all  strangers  who  offer  articles  for 
sale  or  exchange.  I  once  very  innocently 
bought  some  stolen  property,  and  it  taught  me 
a  lesson.  This  watch  was  sold  for  ninety  dol- 
lars by  a  man  named  Rufus  Turner,  who  lires 

in  New  Orleans,  No.  240  stre<>t..     1  will 

write  to  him  at  once,  and  find  out,  if  possible, 
how  it  came  into  his  possession.  I  rather 
think  he  had  some  horses  here  for  .sale." 

"Did  he  wear  green  glasses?"  inijuired 
Russell  of  the  young  man  who  had  purchased 
the  watch. 

"  Y'es,  and  had  one  arm  in  a  sling." 

"  I  saw  such  a  man  here  about  the  time  my 
watch  wa^  mis.sing." 

After  some  directions  from  Mr.  Campbell 
concerning  the  proi)er  course  to  be  pursued, 
Electra  drew  out  her  locket,  saying — 

"  Now,  Russell,  is  not  this  locket  mine  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  but  where  is  the  miniature  ?  What 
are  you  going  to  do  with  it?" 

"  The  miniature  is  at  home,  but  I  want  to 
sell  the  frame,  and  Mr.  Brown  docs  not  know 
but  that  it  is  another  watch  case  ?" 

'•  If  it  is  necessary,  I  will  swear  that  it  be- 
longs lawfully  to  you  ;  but  Avhat  do  you  want 
to  sell  it  for?  I  should  tliink  you  would 
prize  it  too  highly  to  be  willing  to  part  with 
it." 

"  I  do  prize  the  miniature,  and  would  not 
part  with  it  lor  any  consideration ;  but  I  want 
something  fixr  more  than  a  gold  case  to  keep 
it  in." 

"  Tell  me  what  you  want,  and  1  will  get  it 
for  you,"  whispered  her  cousin. 

"  No,  I  am  going  to  sell  this  frame." 

"  And  I  am  going  to  buy  it  from  you,"  said 
the  kind-hearted  merchant,  taking  it  from  her 
hand  and  weighing  it. 

Russell  arid.  .Mr.  Campbell  left  the  store, 
and  soon  after  Mr.  Brown  paid  Electra  sev- 
eraj  dcliars  for  the  loeket. 

In  halt  an  hoiu'  she  had  purchased  a  small 
box  of  paints,  a  supply  of  drawing-paper  and 
peneils,  and  returned  home,  happii-r  and 
proudttr  than  many  an  empress,  whose  jewels 
1,.,,,.  o,,,,-,ll,  J  those  of  the  Bcgiims  of  Oude. 
Russell's  charact<'r,  and  her 

.     I       sp^l  over  her  heart  to  still  its 

rapturous  throbbing.  Happy  a.s  an  uneagcd 
bird,  she  arranged  the  tea-table  and  sat  down  , 
tu  wait  for  him.  He  came  at  last,  later  than 
usual,  and  then  she  had  her  reward  ;  he  took 
her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her.  -Yet,  while 
his  lip  rested  on  hers,  Irene's  image  rose  be- 
fore her,  and  ho  felt  her  shiver  as  she  clnng  to 
him.     He  was  her  idol,  and  the  bare  sugges- 


24 


MACAPJA. 


tion  of  his  loving  ano'.her  better  cliilled  the  I  and  gloried  in  an  opportunity  of  injurinnf  me. 
Wood  in  her  Tcins.  He  spoke  little  of  the  |  Do  you  suppose  I  shall  shield  your  unirrinci- 
watch,  appeared  to  miss  his  motht  r.  and  soon  pK*d  sou  for  your  sake?  You  showed  me  no 
went  to  his  room  aud  began  to  stu-iT.  How  ;  mercy,  you  mav  expect  as  little.  The  stow  of 
ignornnt  lie  wa«  of  what  passed  in  hi*  lousin'a  j  the  watch  shall  miice  its  way  wherever  we^^ — " 
heart:  how  little  he  husnccted  iJie  intensity  of  i  He  paused  suddenly,  for  the  imaure  of  his 
her  feeling''.  Con^'antly  Ofuupi-d  during  the  [  gentle,  forgiving  mother  rose  before,  liim,  and 
day,  he  rarely  thi^ujjht  of  her  away  from  he  knew  that  she  would  be  grieved  at  the 
home;  and,  though  a! ways  kind  and  con.sider- j  spirit  he  evinced.  There  was  an  awkward 
ate,  he  failed  to  understand  her  natur<<,  or  (  silence,  broken  by  Mr.  Watson, 
fully  a^ipreeiafe  her  affection  for  him.  Many  I  "  If  I  retract  all  that  I  have  said  agr»vnst 
davK  elapsed  before  Mr.  Turner's  answer  ar-  |  you,  and  avow  your  innocence,  will  it  sati^lV 
rived.  He  stated  that  he  had  won  the  watch  ^  you  ?  Will  you  In;  silent  about  Cecil  V" 
from  Cecil  Watson,  at  a  liorse-race,  where  "No!"  rose  peremptorily  to  his  lip<  but  he 
both  Were  betting;  and  proved  the  correct- i  cheeked  it;  and  the  patient  teaching  of  year^. 
ness  of  his  a.ssertion  by  reference  to  several  his  mother's  precepts,  ami  hi.s  mother's  prayers 
persons  / •"  o  were  nn-scnt,  and  who  resided  in  I  brouL'ht  forth  their  first  fruit,  crolden  charity, 
the  town,  llussi.'ll  had  suspected  Cecil  froip  I  "  You  merit  no  forbearance  at  my  Iiands, 
the  moment  of  it.s  disappearance,  and  now,  and  I  came  here  intending  to  show  you  none; 
provided  with  both  letter  and  watch,  and  ac- 'but,  on  rcllection,  I  will  not  f<;llow  yourcxam- 
companied  by  Mr.  Brown,  he  repaired  to  Mr.  ;  i)ie.  *  Clear  my  name  before  the  public,  and  I 
Watson's  sto:e.  Russell  had  been  insulted,  leave  the  whole  affair  with  you.  There  has 
hLs  nature  was  stern,  and  now  he  e.xulteil  in  |  never  been  any  love  betwei  n  us,  because  you 
the  power  of  disgracing  the  son  of  the  man  were  always  despotic  and  ungenerous,  but  I 
who  had  wronc;ed  him.  There  was  no  flush  am  sorry  for  yo>i  now,  for  you  have  taught  me 
on  hii  facr",  but  a  cold,  triumphant  glitter  in  *  how  heavy  is  the  bunlen  you  have  to  bear  in 
luti  ryes  as  he  apy)roachcd  his  former  employ-  !  future.  CJood-uiorning." 
er,  and  laid  watch  and  letter  before  him.  |      Afraid  to  trust  himself,  he  turned  away  and 

"What  business  have  you  here?"  growled   joiued  Mr.  Campbell  in  the  ofKce.  jj 

the  merchant,  trembling  before  the  expression  '      In  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day  came  a 
of  tin- boy's  countenance.  J  letter   from   Mr.    Hill    containing   sad  news. 

"My  business  is  to  clear  my  character  which  '  The  oculist  had  operated  on  Mr.s.  Anbrey's 
you  have  slandered,  ainJ  to  fi.'^  the  disgrace  j  eyes,  but  violent  inflammation  had  ensued;  he 
vou  intended  for  me  on  your  own  .son.  I  had  done  all  that  .scientific  skill  coulil  prompt, 
briog  you  the  proofs  of  his  not  my  villany."      !  but  feared  .='lie  would  be  hopelessly  blind.     At 

"  Come  into  the  back-room,  I  will  see  Brown  .  the  close  of  the  letter  ilr.  Hill  staUul  that  ha 
another  time,"  said  Mr.  Watson,  growing  j)aler  would  bring  her  home  the  following  week, 
each  moment.  '■  One    November    evening,  just    before    dark, 

"  No,  sir,  you  were  not  so  secret  in  your  \  while  Russell  was  cutting  wood  for  the  kitch- 
dcaliiigs  with  me.     Here  where  you  insulted  j  en-fire,  tlie  stage  stop])cd  at  the  cottage-gate, 


and  he  hurried  forward  to  reciMve  his  mother 
iu   his  arms.     It  was  a  melancholy  reunion; 


me  you  sliall   hear  the   whole   truth.      Read 
that.     I  suppose  tlie  twenty -dollar  gold  piece 

followed  the  watch."  I  for  a  moment  the  poor  sufferer's  fortitude  for 

Ttie  unfortunate  father  perused  the  letter  ^ok  ^er,  and  she  wept.  Bjit  his  caresses 
slowly,  and  smothered  a  groan.  Ru>seil  w.ilcli- :  soothed  her,  and  she  follov/ed  P^lectra  into 
ed  him  with  a  keen  joy  whi(!h  he  might  bavu  i  the  house  while  lie  brought  in  the  trunk, 
blushed  to  acknowledge  had  lie  analyzed  his  When  .--liawl  aud  bonnet  ha<l  been  removed, 
feelings.     Writhing  under  l.i.;  empaling  eye,    and   1".!  •(  tra  placed  her  in  the  rocking-chair. 


Mr.  Watson  said  : 

"  Have  you  applied  to  the  irltnCBses  refer- 
red to  ?" 

"  Yi'S,  they  are  ready  to  swear  that  they 
saw  Cecil  bet  Turner  the  wateh." 


the  light  fell  on  face  and  figure,  and  the  (Cous- 
ins started  at  the  change  that  had  taken  p^iee. 
She  was  .so  '^liastly  pale,  so  very  much  reduced. 
She  told  them  all  that  had  occurred  tluring 
the  tedious  weeks  of  absence  ;  how  much  she 
"  You  did  not  tell  them  the  circuujktftanccs,  '  regrette<l  having  gone  since  the  trip  proved  so 
did  vou  V"  v(y^  unsuccessful;    hriw.  much   more   she   deplored 

"Ao."  '  the  afllietion  on  their  acrount  than  her  own; 

"  Wt  11,  it  is  an  unfortunate  affair;   I  want    and  theu  from  that  hour  no  allusion  was  ever 
it  drop|)ed   as  quietly   as   possible.      It  will    made  to  it. 

never  do  to  have  it  known  far,  and  wide."  — 

"Aha !   you  can  feel  th6  stitig  now.      Buy|^^^^| 
remember  you  took  care  to  circulate  the  ^ISuKt/tKr  CirAPTER    V. 

der  on  my  name.     I  heard  of  it.     You  did  BMJ^^^^ 

spare  me,  yoa  did  not  spare  my  mother;  <(h'dd' ,j|iVccks  and  months  slipped  away,  and  total 
Jacob  Watson,  neither  will  I  spare  you.  Yott4.t!arkness  came  down  on  the  widow.  She 
aever  believed  me  guilty,  but  you  hated  me]  groped   with    some    difficulty   froil!    room   to 


MACARIA. 


25 


room.,  and  Electra  ■was  compelled  to  remain  at 
home  and  watch  oyer  her.  Rus«!(dl  had  be- 
booio  a  great  favorite  with  his  crusly  employ- 
er, and,  .when  the  labors  of  the  oilice  wore 
ended,  brouslit  home  such  book<<  as  ho  needed, 
and  spent  his  evenings  in  s'udy.  His  powers 
of  appliention  and  endin-ancft  were  extraordi- 
nary, and  his  progress  was  in  the  same  ratn. 
As  he  became  more  and  more  absorbed  in 
these  pm'suits  his  reserve  and  taciturnity  in- 
03:eased,  and  liis  habitirally  hasty  step  and  ab- 
straftftd  ex[iros»ion  of  countenance  told  of  a 
strong  nature  straining  its  powers  to  tlie  ut- 
most to  atf^iiin  some  distant,  glimmei'ing  goal. 
His  employer  was  particularly  impressed  by 
the  fact  that  he  never  vohiuteered  a  remark 
on  any  subject,  and  rarely  opened  his  lips  ex- 
cept to  ask  some  necessar.y  information  in 
connection  with  h\s  ])usiiie3K.  Sometimes  the 
'silence  of  the  ofhi-e  was  unbroken  lor  hours', 
save  by  the  dull  ."scratching  of  pens,  or  an 
•im]).»tic.nt  exclani'ition  fi-om  Mr.  Campbell. 
Respectful  in  deportment,  attentive  to  his  du- 
ties, neverpreenming  upon  kindness,  constant- 
ly at  work  from  morning  until  night,  yet  with 
atv  unmistakable  sorrow  printed  on  his  face — 
a  sorrow  never  obtruded  on.anv  one,  never 
;^uded  to  —  he  won  fir.'it  the  rigid  scrutiny  of 
the  lawyer,  then  his  deepest,  most  abiding 
alfectiou.  Naturally  cold  and  undemonstra- 
tive in  manner,  Mr.  Campbidl  gave  little  evi- 
dence of  feeling  of  any  kind,  yet  the  picrfing 
blue  eye  lost  its  keeaness  when  resting  on  the 
tall,  stahyart  form  of  the  clerk,  and  once  or 
twice  the  wrinkled  hand  sought  his  broad 
shouhler  almost  caressingly.  -He  had  pot  mar- 
ried ;  had  neither  mother  nor  sisters  to  keep 
his  nature  loving  and  gentle,  and,  though  he 
occasionally  visited  his  brother,  who  was  a 
minist^T  in  the  sailie  town,  he  was  hehl  in  awe 
by  the  m(>nibers  of  that  brother's  family,  lie 
comprehended  Russell's  character,  and  quiet- 
ly facilitated  his  progi'ess.  There  wa^  no  syc- 
ophancy on  the  part  of  the  young  man,  no 
patronage  on  that  of  the  eniplo}  er. 

One  afternoon  Irene  tapped  lig'htly  at  the 
cottage-door,  and  entered  the  kitchen.  Tilrs. 
Aubri-y  s'.t  in  a  low  chair  close  to  the  fireplace, 
engaged  in  knitting;  lier  smooth,  neat  calico  i 
dress  and  spotless  linen  collar  told  that  "care- j 
ful,  hands  tended  her,  and  the  soft  auburn 
hair  lirushcd  over  her  temples  showed  broad 
bands  of  gray  as  the  evening  sun  shone  on  it. 
She  turned  her  brown,  .'nglitle.'is  eyes  toward 
the  door,  and  asked  in  a  low  voice : 

"WiioisitV" 

"  It  is  only  me,  ISIrs.  Aubrey."" 

Irene  bfnt  down,  laid  her  two  hands  on  the 
■widow's,  and  kissed  her  forehead. 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  your  voice,  Irene;   it 
has  been  a  long  time  since  yon  were  here." 

"  Yis,  a  good  many  •weeks,  I  know,  but  I 
could  not  come." 

"  Are  yod  well  ?     Your  hands  and  face  aie 
cold."  >  i 


"Yes,  thank  you,  very  well.  I  am'  alwaj'rt 
cold,  I  believe.  Hugh  says  1  am.  Here  are 
some  flowers  from  the  greenhouse.  I  brought 
them  b(>cause  they  are  so  fragrant :  and  here, 
too,  are  a  few  oranges  from  the  same  plare. 
Husli !  don't  thank  me,  if  you  please.  1  wish 
I  could  come  here  oftener.  I  always  i'v.vl  bet- 
ter after  being  with  you ;  but  I  can't  always 
come  when  I  want  to,  do  so." 

"  Wliy  not,  Irene  ?" 

"  Oh,  because  of  various  tilings.  Between 
school  and  music^  find  riding  and  reading,  I 
have  very  little  time;  and  besides,'^' father 
wants  me  with  him  when  he  is  at  home.  I 
play  chess  with  him,  and  sometimes  we  are 
three  or  four  days  fmisliing  one  game.  Some- 
how, Mr.«i.  Aubrey,  tliough  I  don't  mean  to  be 
idle,  it  seems  to  me  that  1  do  very  little.  Ev- 
erybody ought  to  be  of  some  use  in  this  world, 
but  I  i'ecl  like  a  bunch  of  mi-stletoe,  growing 
on  somebody  else,  and  doing  nothing.  I  don't 
intend  to  sit  down  and  hold  my  hands  all  iny 
life,  but  what  can  I  do?  Tell  me  how  to 
begin." 

She  lifted  a  large  tortoise-colored  cat  from 
a  small  stool,  and  drew  it  near  the  hearth,  just 
at  the  widow's  feet,  seating  hersell',  and  re- 
moving her  hat. 

"  Tluit  is  more  easily  asked  than  answered; 
you  are  a  great  heiress,  Irene,  and  in  all  hu- 
man probability  -vvill  never  be  obliged  to  do  . 
anything.  For  ivhat  is  generally  denomin.ated 
work  you  will  have  no  occasion  ;  but  all  whc 
wish  to  be  really  happy  should  be  cmj^loyed 
in  some  way.  You  will  liot  have  to  labor  for 
your  food  and  clothes,  like  my  Russell  and- 
Elcctra;  but  you  will  have  it  in  your  power 
to  do  a  vast  deal  more  good.  In  cultivating 
your  mind  do  not  forget  your  heart;  it  is  nat^ 
urally  full  of  very  generous,  noble  impulses; 
but  all  human  beings  have  faults;  what  yours 
may  be  you  know  best,  and  you  should  con- 
stantly strive  to  correct  them.  Read  your 
Bi])le,  dear  child;  not  now  and  then,  but 
daily  and  prayerfully.  Oh,  Irene  !  I  have  had 
some  bitter,  bitter  sorrows,  and  frequimtly  I 
thought  that  they  would  crush  out  my  life, 
lu,  those  times  of  triab  if  1  had  not  had  my 
Bible  and  my  God  I  believe  I  shouhl  have  lost 
my  reason.  But  I  read  and  was  eomfor(,ed. 
His  promises  sustained  me ;  and  in  looking 
back  1  see  many  place.*  which  should  be  called" 
Jehovah  Jiri.h,  for  the  Lord  saw  ruid  provided. 
Your  Bible  will  teach  you  your  duty  much 
better  than  I  possibly  can.  You  owe  your 
father  a  great  deal ;  his  hopes  and  joys  centre 
in  you,- and  through  lif^.'  lu-  will  look  to  you 
for  his  happiness.  VVIumi  you  are  grown,  soci- 
ety, too,  will  clailh  you;  you  will  be  sought 
after  anil  flattered;  and,  Irene,  undvf  these 
circumstances — with  your  remarkable  beauty 
and  wealth — you  will  find  it  a  diffieult  matter 
to  avoid  hoJug  spoiled.  Yxjur  influence  will 
be  very  great,  and  a  fearful  respon^iiiility 
must  attend  its  employment.      Let  it  be  for 


36 


MACARIA. 


!]jooi1.  Try  to  keen  your  heart  free  from  all  |  erected  to  promulgate  some  particular  dogma, 
>  Ifi^h  or  Ignoble  n-eJings;  pray  to  God  for  !  to  magnify  and  exalt  as  all-important  some 
•guidance,  that  you  may  be  enabled  through  trilling  dllTerenee  in  the  form  ol  church  gov- 
Ilis  gra<e  to  keep  youreelf  'unspolted  from  ,  ernmcnt.  Once  established,  the  mrmbora  of 
the  vorld; '  those  wonL;  contain  the  wliole:  ■  each  5ect  apply  thcuisclves  to  the  agg.audize- 
'  uusj")fril  from  tfie  tvorlil.'  You  have  not  '  ment  of  their  peculiar  church ;  and  thus  it 
been  s]  "•'<(1  thus  far  by  luxury  and  life-long  !  conies  to  pass  that  instead  of  (in«'  va^tbrother- 
jK'ttiiig,  aril  I  hope  and  believe  that  you  never  hood,  united  against  sin  and  infid^'lity,  they 
will  be;  but  rcnvmber,  we  must  be  continu-  \  are  disgracefully  wrangling  about  sectarian 
aily  on  the  watch  against  temptation.  Irene,  '  matters  of  no  coiisfqucnce  whaU-ver.  In  all 
!»avc  I  spoken  too  plainly  V"  '  this  there  is  much  totally  antagonistic  to  the 

*' No.  I  thank  you  for  your  candor.  I  want  ■  princij>les  inculcated  by  our  Saviour,  who 
you  to  advise  me  just  as  you  would  Electra.  \  expressly  denounced  the  short-si:^hlcd  bigotry 
I  <lonlt  read  my  IJible  as  ol'tcn  as  I  ought,  but  of  those  who  magnified  external  observances 
there  arc  so  many  thing's  in  it  which  I  do  not  ,  and  non-essentials  ht  the  expense  of  the  gen- 
undei  stand  that  1  hardly  ever  open  it  now.  nine  spirit  of  their  religion.  I  wish  most  ear- 
I  have  nobody  to  explain  the  difliculties."  nestly  that  these  denominational  b:irri;  rs  and 

"  It  is  very  clear  on  the  subject  of  our  duty ;;  distinctions  could  bo  swept  away,  that  the 
Go<V  left  not  the  slladow  of  mystery  in  his  laws  ,  names  of  i\Iftho<list  and  Episcopal,  Presby- 
for  the  government  of  the  heart  and  regula- '  terian  and  Baptist  could  be  obliterated,  and 
tion  of  the  lift;.  lie  commands  us  to  receive  '  that  all  tlie  members  were  gatl;iied  l.armoni- 
certain   rules,  to  practise   certain   principles,  i  ously  into  one  world-wide  pale,  tho  Protestant 


and  to  abstain  from  certain  sinful  things,  all  ot 
which  are  specified,  and  not  to  be  mistaken 
by  even  the  niyst  obtuse.  Melvill  has  said  in 
one  of  his  beautiful  and  comforting  sennons: 
'  CJod  breathed  h'uiiself  into  the  composition? 


Church  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ." 

"  Mrs.    Aubrey,   do    you    belong    to    any 

jhundi '.'" 
"  Yes,  ■  Irene,    because    Christ  .founded   a 

church,  and  I  think  every  man  and  woman 


of  i)rophets  and  apostles  and  evangelists,  and  should  belong  to  some  religious  organization, 
there,  as  in  the  mystic  recesses  of  an  cverlast-  Moreover,  unless  a  member  of  .some  one  of 
ing  sanctuary,  he  still  resides,  ready  to  dis- i  the  denominations,  you  can  not  commune; 
clo.-e  himself  to  the  humble,  and  to  be  evoked  and,  a?  the  sacrament  particularly  established 
by  tiie  prayerful.  ]*ut  in  legard  to  every  by  our  Saviour,  all  ought  to  be  able  to  par- 
other  book,  however  fraught  it  may  be  with  ,  take  of  it.  I  think  it  a  matter  of  little  coa- 
the  maxims  of  piety,  however  pregnant  with  j  scqueuec  which  of  the  CTangelical  sects  one 
momentous  truth,  there  is  nothing  of  this  slirin-  <  selects.  ,  Do  not  imagine  that  I  believe  people 
ing  himtelf  of  Deity  in  the  depths  of  its  mean- '  can  only  be  saved  by  entrance  into  some 
ing.  Men  may  be  instructed  by  its  pages,  and  }  church;  I  think  no  such  thing  ;  the  church  is 
draw  from  tliem  hope  and  con.solalion,  but  |  a  valuable  instvuuient,  but  God  who  estab- 
never  will  they  find  there*  the  burning  She-  '  lished  it  can  work  without  it.  Still,  it  is 
kinah  which  proclaims  the  actual  presence  of  very  ivasonable  to  suppose  that  regular  at- 
God;  never  hear  a  voice  as  from  the  solitudes  tendance  on  divine  service  fosters  piety,  and 
of  an  oracle  pronouncing  the  words  of  jmmor-  i  keeps  the  subject  of  our  duty  more  constanti); 
Ulity.' "  '  before  us." 

"  How  then  docs  it  happen,  Mrs.  Aubrey,  |  She  had  finished  her  knitting,  and  sat  with 
that  diHerent  churches  teach  such  conflicting  \  her  thin  hainls  folded  in  her  laj) — the  nu'ek 
doctrines?  Why  are  there  so  many  denouu- '  face  more  than  usi^jilly  serene,  the  sightless 
nations?  If  the  ti'a<.'hings  of  the  Bible  are  so  !  eyes  directed  toward  her  visitor.  Sunshine 
plain,  how  can  such  various  creeds  arise  ?"        ,  (lucked  the  b/ire  boards  under  the  window, 

"Because  poor  human  nature  is. so  full  of |  flashed  on  the  tin  vessels  ranged  on  the 
foibles;  because  charity,  t^e  fundamental  doc- 1  shelves,  and  lingered  like  a  halo  around 
trine  of  Christ,  is  almost  lost  sight  of  by  those  I  Irene's  head.  Her  hair  swept  on  the  floor, 
churches;  it  has  dwindled  into  a  mere  speck,  j  and  the  cat  played  now  and  tl^'U  with  the 
in  conntarison  with  the  trifles  which  they  have  j  gohlen  rings  so  softly  as  not  to  attract  notice, 
magnified  to  usurp  its  place.  Instead  of  one  I  as  though  conscious  the  new  toy  was  jireeious. 
great  Christian  church,  holding  the  doctrines  1  The  countenances  of  the  group  contrasted 
of  the  New  Testament,  practising  the  true  j  vividly :  the  sweet  resignation  of  the  blind 
8j)iriL  of  tiie  Saviour,  and  in  gonuine  c|iarity  ]  gufferer,  the  marble  purity  of  Irene's  face, 
allowing  its  members. to  judge  for  themselves  !  and,  just  in  the  rear,  KIcctra's  bi-oad,"  pule 
in  tiif.  minor  cpiestions  relating  to  religion  ;  I  brow  and  restless,  troubled,  midnight  eyes, 
such  for  instance  as  the  mode  of  bapti.sm,  the  The  latter  had  been  drawing  at  tlie  table  ia 
privilege  of  believing  presbyters  and  bishops  I  the  miildlc  of  the  room,  and  now  sal  leaning 
equal  in  dignity,  or  otherwise',  as  the  ca.se  (  on  her  hand,  watching  the  two  at  the  fire, 
may  be,  the  necessity  of  ministers  wearing  i  Presently  Irene  approached  and  began  to  ex- 
surplico,  or  the  contrary,  as  individual  taste  j  amine  the  drawings,  which  wertj  fVagiuenlary, 
dictates,  we  have  vai-ious  denominations,  all  I  except  one  or  two  heads,  and  a  sketch  taken 


MACARIA. 


27 


from  Uic  bank  op()Osite  the  Fail8.  After  some 
moments  passed  in  looking  over  them,- Irene 
addressed  the  quiet  little  figm*e. 

"  Have  you  been  to  Mi-.  Clifton's  studio  ?" 

"  No ;  who  is  he  ?" 

"  An  artist  fi'om  New  York.  His  health  is 
poor,  and  he  is  spending  the  ^vinter  south. 
Have  n't  you  heard  of  hira  ?  Everybody  is 
having  portraits  taken.  He  is  painting  mine 
now — latker  would  make  me  sit  again,  liiough 
he  has  a  likeness  which  wits  painted  four 
years  ago.  I  am  going  down  tu-morrow  for 
my  last  silling,  and  should  like  vory  much  lor 
you  to  go  witii  me.  Perhaps  ]Mr.  Ciitlon  can 
give  you  some  valuable  hints.     Will  you  go  ?" 

"  With  great  pleasure."' 

''  Then  1  will  call  for  you  a  little  before  ten 
o'clock.  Here  ara  some  t:rayon.s  I  bought  for 
you  a  week  ago.     Good-by." 

She  left  (he  room  as  quietly  as  she  had 
entered,  and.  found  Paragon  waiting  for  her 
at  the  door.  He  gambolled  before  her  all  the 
way — now  darting  oif,  and  as  suddenly  re- 
turning, to  throw  himself  at  her  feet,  and 
wonder  why  she  failed  to  earess  him  as  usual. 
Other  thoughts  engaged  her  now ;  she  could 
see  nothing  but  the  form' of  t/ie  widow,  and 
to-day  she  realized  more  than  ever  before  how 
much  she  needed  a  motlier.  Low,  sweet,  gen- 
tle tones  rarely  fell  upon  her  ear,  and;  except 
her  father  and  Dr.  Arnold,  no  one  h.ad  ever 
attempted  to  earess  her.  She  wearied  of  the 
fourteen  years  of  isolation,  and  now  on  enter- 
ing her  fifteenth  looked  about  her  for  at  least 
one  coiigenial  spirit.  She  knew  of  none  but 
Electra  and  Mrs.  Aubrey  who  in  any  degree 
eympatliized  with  her,  and  from  tliese  she  was 
debarred  by  'parental  interdict.  Miss  Mar- 
garet, seconded  Ijy  Mr.  Huntingdon,  now 
constantly  prescribed  a  course  of  conduct 
detectable  to  tin-,  girl,  who  plainly  perceived 
that  as  she  grew  older  these  diflerences  in- 
creased. Was  it  her  duty  to  submit  unhesi- 
tatingly to  their  dictation?  Did  the  command 
of  filial  obedience  cmbraco  all  such  matters, 
or  was  it  modified — limited  by  the  right  of 
individual  conscience  V  This  consultation  was 
long  and  patient,  and  the  conclusion  unalter- 
able. She  would  do  what  she  believed  to  be 
E roper,  v/hatever  she  thought  her  duty,  at  all 
azards.  She  had  no  one  to  guide  her,  and 
must  rely  only  on  God  and  her  own  heart. 

Tlie  (bllowing  day  Miss  Margaret  accom- 
panied her  to  the  studio.  As  the  carriage 
approaclied  th(*  cottage  -  gate  Irene  directed 
the  driver  to  slop. 

"  For  wjiat?"  asked  her  aunt. 

"  Eleefra  Grey  is  going  with  mc;  I  prom- 
ised to  call  for  her.  She  has  au  extraordinary 
talent  for  ilrawing,  and  I  waut  to  introduce 
her  to  Mr.  Clilton.   Open  the  door,  Andrew." 

"  Irene,  are.  you  deranjjed !  Your  father 
never  would  furgivo  yoil  if  he  knew  you  asso- 
ciated with  those  people.  I  can't  think  of 
*   allowing   that   girl    to    enter    this    carriage. 


Drive  on.     I  must  really  speak  to  Leonard 
about  your  obstinacy  in  visiting  at  that — " 

"  Stop,  Andrew  !  If  you  don't  choose  to 
ride  with  Electra,  aunt  ]\Iargaret,  you  may 
go  on  alone,  for  either  she  shall  ride  or  I  will 
walk  with  her." 

Andrew  opened  the  door,  and  she  was 
stepping  out,  when  Electra  appeared  in  the 
walk'and  immediately  joined  her.  Miss  Mar- 
garet was  thoroughly  aroused  and  indignant, 
but  thouifht  it  best  to  submit  for  the  time, 
and  when  Irene  introduced  her  friend  .she 
took  no  notice  of  her  whatever,  except  by 
drawing  herself  up  in  one  corner  and  lower- 
ing her  veil.  The  girls  talked  during  the 
remainder  of  the  ride,  and  when  they  reached  v 
Mr.  Clifton's  door  ran  np  tiie  steps  together, 
totally  unmindful  of  the  august  lady's  ill 
humor. 

The  artist  was  standing  before  an  easel 
which  held  Irene's  unfinished  portrait,  and  as 
he  turned  to  greet  his  visitors  Electra  saw 
that,  though  thin  and  ])ale,  his  face  was  ono 
of  rare  beauty  and  benevolence.  Ilis  brown, 
curling  hair  hung  loosely  about  his  sliouUlers, 
and  an  iniconnnonly  long  beard  of  the  same 
silky  texture  desceinled  almost  to  his  waist. 
He  shook  hands  with  Irene,  .and  looked  in- 
quiringly at  her  eonij)anion. 

"Mr.  Clifton,  this  is  Miss  Electra  Grey, 
whose  drawings  I  mentioned  to  you  last  week. 
I  wish,  if  you  jjlease,  you  wouUl  examine  some 
of  them  when  you  have  leisure." 

Electra  looked  for  an  instant  into  his  large, 
clear  gray  eyes  as  he  took  her  drawings 
aud  said  he  would  be  glad  to  assist  her,  and 
knew  that  henceforth  the  tangled  path  Avould 
be  smoothed  and  widened.  She  stood  at  the 
back  of  Ilis  chair  during  the  hour's  sitting,  and 
with  peculiar  interest  watched  tiie  strokes  of 
his  brush  as  the  portrait  grew  undei\iiis  prac- 
tised hand.  When  Irene  rose,  the  orphan 
moved  away  and  began  to  scrutinize  the  nu- 
merous pictures  scattered  about  the  room.  A 
great  joy  filled  her  heart  and  illumined  her 
face,  and  she  waited  for  the  words  of  en- 
couragement that  she  felt  assured  would  be 
spoken.  The  artist  looked  over  her  sketches 
.slowly,  carefully,  and  his  eye  went  back  to 
her  brilliant  counttjnanie,  as  if  to  read  there 
answers  to  ciphers  which  perplexed  him.  But 
yet  more  balfliug  cryptography  met  him  in 
the  deep,  flashing,  appealing  eyes,  on  the  crim- 
son, quivering  lips,  on  the  low,  full  brow,  with 
its  widely-separated  black  arches.  Evidently 
the  fact  possessed  far  more  attraction  than 
the  drawnigs,  and  he  maile  her  sit  down 
beside  him,  and  passed  his  hand  over  her 
head  and  temples,  as' a  professed  phrenologist 
might  preparatory  to  rendering  a  chart.    • 

"  Your  sketches  arc  Tery  rough,  very  crude, 
but  they  also  display  great  power  of  thought ; 
some  of  them  singular  beauty  of  conception ; 
and  I  S(!C  from  your  countenance  that  you  are 
dissatisfied  because  the  execution  falls  so  fw 


iS 


MACARIA. 


iliort  of  the  {'•ncc'ption.  l>ct  me  t.ilk  to  you 
candidly;  you  havf,  uncommon  talont,  but  the 
most  exalted  gonius  ran  not  disp"i;?e  with  la- 
borious study.  Michael  Anpolo  ntudi^d  anat- 
om}-  for  twelve  years;  you  will  require  lonpr 
and  rarnest  application  brfore  you  can  possi- 
bly aeoomjilish  anytliingVf  importance.  .  The 
study  of  Art  is  no  mere  pastime,  as  some  people 
sup[iost.' ;  an  artist's  life  is  an  arduous  ont*  at 
best.  I  have  been  told  somitliinjr  of  your  his- 
tory; you  are.  verv  poor,  and  wish  to  nuke 
paiiit.in<r  a  profession.  Tiiink  well  before 
you  decide  this  njatter;  rcnicnilxM-  that  longr, 
tedious  months  must  elapse  before  you.  can 
hojie  to  execute  even  an  ordinary  portrait. 
You  must  acjpiaint  yourself  with  the  anatomy 
of  the  human  system  before  you  undertake 
anythinfi.  I  thouL'ht  I  hsd  finished  my  course 
seven  yenrs  330,  but  I  went  to  Italy  and  soon 
saw  th.U  I  had  only  l>eiiin  to  iearn  my  profe.-- 
sion.     Think  well  of  all  this." 

*' I  have  thoucrht  of  it ;  I  am  willing  to  work 
any  number  of  years:  I  have  decided,  and  I 
am  not  to  be  frijihtened  from  my  purpose.  I 
am  poor,  I  can  barely  buy  the  necessary  ma- 
terials, mucli  less  the  books,  but  I  will  be  an 
artist  yet.  I  have  decided,  sir;  it  is  no  new 
whim:  it  has  been  a  bri</ht  dream  to  me  all 
my  life,  and  I  am  determined  to  realize  it." 

"Amen;  so  let  it  he,  then.  I  shall  remain 
here  some  weeks  lonL'cr ;  come  to  me  every 
day  at  ten  o'clock,  and  I  will  instruct  you. 
You  shdl  have  such  books  as  you  need,  and 
with  j)crs(.'venince  you  have  notliinfj  to  fi-ar." 

lie  wiMit  into  the  adjoinincr  room,  and  re- 
turned with  a  small  volume.  As  he  ;j;ave  it  to 
her,  with  .^ome  directions  concerning  the  con- 
t<}nts,  she  caught  his  hand  to  her  lips,  saying 
hastily: 

"My  guardian  ani'el  certainly  brouj^ht  you 
here  to  spend  the  winter.  Oli,  sir!  I  will 
prove  my  piatilude  for  your  <joodness  by  show- 
ing that  I  ai!i  not  unworthy  of  it.  1  thank 
you  from  the  >^'ry  dejjths  of  my  glad  heart." 

As  she  released  his  hand  and  left  the  studio 
he  found  two  bright  drops  on  his  fingers,  drops 
called  forth  by  the  most  intense  joy  she  had 
ever  known.  Having  some  commission  from 
hev  aunt,  she  did  not  re-enter  the  carriage-, 
and,  after  thanking  Irene  for  her  kindness, 
walked  away.  The  riilc  home  was  v^ry  silent; 
Miss  Margaret  sat  stilV  and  icy,  looking  quite 
insulted,  while  her  niece  was  too  much  en- 
trrossed  by  other  reflections  to  notice  her. 
The  latter  spent  the  remainder  of  the  morn- 
ing in  writing  to  Hugh  and  correcting  her 
French  exercises,  and  \frhen  summoned  to 
dinner  she  entered  the  room  expecting  a 
storm.  \  glance  sufliced  to  show  her  that 
Miss  Mnrgaret  had  not  yet  spoken  to  ber 
father;  though  it  was  evifient  from  her  coun- 
tenance that  she  was  about  to  make  what  she 
considereii  an  .  important  revelation.  The 
meal  passed,  however,  without  any  alltision 
to  the  subje4.'t,  and,  knowing  what  sht  had  to 


expect.  Irene  immediately  withdrew  ^o  the 
liJ)rary  to  give  her  aunt  an  opportunity  ot 
unburdening  her  mind.  The  straggle  must 
come  some  time,  and  she  longed  to  have  it  over 
as  soon  as  possible.  She  tlirew  up  the  sash, 
seated  herself  on  the  broad  cedar  window-sill, 
and  began  to  work  out  a  sum  in  algebra. 
Nearly  a  half-hour  passed;  the  slaimning  o^ 
the  dining-room  door  was  like  the  first  line  of 
toam,  curling  and  whit^'ning  the  sea  when  the 
tempest  sweeps  forward;  her  fatluT  stauijied 
intg  tlie  library,  and  the  storm  broke  over  her. 

"Irene!  did  n't  I  positively  order  you  to 
keep  away  from  that  Aubrey  family  ?  What 
do  you  mean  by  setting  mo. at  d  fiance  in  this 
way,  yoij  wilful,  spoiled,  hard-headed  piece? 
Do  you  suppose  I  intend  tn  put  up  with  your 
obstlnaiy  all  my  life,  and  let  you  walk  rough- 
shod over  me  and  my  <ommauds  ?  You  have 
queened  it  long  enough,  my  lady.  If  I  don't 
rein  you  up,  you  will  turn  your  aunt  and  me 
out  of  the  house  next,  and  invite  that  precious 
Aubrey  crew  to  take  possession,  "lour  con- 
founded stubbornness  will  ruin  you  yet.  You 
deserve  a  good  whipping,  miss ;  I  can  hardly 
keep  my  hands  oflT  of  you." 

He  did  not;  rough  hands  seized  her  shoul- 
ders, jerked  her  irom  the  window-sill,  and 
shook  her  violently.  Down  fell  book,  slate, 
and  pencil  with  a  i^rash ;  down  swept  the 
heavy  hair,  blindinir  her.  She  put  it  back, 
folded  her  hands  behind  her  as  if  tor  support, 
and,  looking  up  at  him,  said  in  a  low,  stt-ad)*, 
yet  grieved  tone  : 

"  I  am  very  sorrj'  you  arc  angry  with  mc, 
father." 

"  Devilish  sorry,  I  dare  say !  Don't  bo  hyp- 
ocTitcal !  Did  n"t  I  tell  you  to  keep  away 
from  tho.sc  people  ?  Don't  stand  there  like  a 
block  of  stone  ;  answer  me  !" 

"Yes,  sir;  but  I  diil  not  promise  to  do  so. 
I  am  not  hypocritical,  father." 
•  "  You  did  not  promise,  indeed  !     What  do  I 
care  for  promises  V     It  was  your  •Jul  v  to  obey 
me." 

"  I  don't  think  it  was,  father,  when  you  re- 
fused to  give  me  any  reason  for  avoiding  Mrs. 
Aubrey  or  her  family.  They  are  unfijrtunate, 
but  honorable  people;  and,  being  very  poor 
and  atllicted,  I  felt  sorry  for  them.  I  can't 
see  how  my  going  there  occasionally  harms 
you,  or  mi",  or  .mybody  else.  I  know  wry 
well  that  you  dislike,  them,  but  you  never  told 
me  why,  and  I  can  not  inir^gine  any  good 
reason  tor  it.  Father,  if  I  love  them,  why 
should  not  I  associate  with  them  ?" 

" Because  I  say  you  sliant !  jou  tormenting, 
headstrong  little  imp !" 

"  My^father,  that  is  no  reason.' 

"  Reason  !  I  will  put  you  when;  you  will 
hf-vve  no  occasion  for  ■  reasons.  Oh  !  I  can 
match  you,  you  perve..-:?  little  wretch  !  I  am 
going  to  send  you  to  a  boarding-school,  do  you 
hear  that?  send  you  where  you^ill  have  no 
Aubreys  to  abet  your  obstinacy  and  di.'iobo- 


MACAPJA. 


29 


dience ;  where  that  temper  of  yours  can  be 
curbed.  How  will  you  relish  getting  up  be- 
fore (lay,  kindling  your  own  fire,  if  you  have 
any,  making  your  own  bed,  and  living  on 
bread  and  "water?  I  will  take  you  to  New 
York,  and  keep  you  there  till'^-bu  are  grown 
and  learn  common  sense.  Now  get  out  of  my 
8igl)t!" 

"With   a  stamp  of  rage,  he  pointed  to  the 
door.     Hitherto  she  had  stood  quite  still,  but 


anxious,  like  all  weak  natures,  to  hang  on 
something  sturdy.  Irene  usually  revelled  amid 
this  wealth  of  floral  beauty,  but  now  she 
could  not  enjoy  it.  She  looked  at  her  favor- 
ites, and  understood  what  was  meant  by  the 
M'ords — 

•■  T  seo  them  all  so  exceriontl.v  fair, 
1  SCO,  not  feel,  li«w  beautiful  they  are.'' 

The  first  groat  grief  of  her  life  had  fnlleii 


now 'an  expression  of  anguish  passed  swiftly  oxx  her;  heretofore  all  had  been  so  serene,  so 
over  her  face,  and  fhe  put  out  her  hands  ap-  Howory,  that  she  could  not,  ea.^dy  understand 
oealiii'dv '  t  or  endure  the  crushing  weight  on  her  heart. 


pe 

"  Fatlicr !  my  father !  don't  send  me  away  ! 
Please  let  me  stay  at  home." 

"  Not  if  I  live  long  enough  to.  take  you. 
Just  as  c^^rtainly  as  the  sun  shines  in  heaven, 
yon  will  go  as  soon  as  your  ch)tiiC3  can  be 
made.  Your  aunt  will  have  you  ready  in  a 
week.  Don't  open  your  mouth  to  me !  I 
don't  want  to  he.ar  another  word  from  you^ 
Take  yourself  oftV 

She  picked  up  her  slate  and  book  and  left 
thg'i-oum.  Her  hat  hung  on  the  rack  in  the 
dia'.'i,  and,  taking  it  down,  she  passed  out 
through  the  rear  piazza.  Paragon  leaped 
and  wiiined  at  sight  of  her;  she  unchained 
him,  and,  leaving  the  yard,  turned  into  a  nar- 
row zigzag  path,  leading  in  an  opposite  direc- 
tion from' the  front  of  the  house.  The  build- 
ing stood  on  (juite  a  hill,  one  side  of  which 
sloped  down  to  the  back  of  a  cj-eek  that  emp- 
tied itself  into  the  river  a^  mile  above  the 
town.  This  declivity  was  thickly  wooded, 
and,  on  the  0])posite  side  of  the  stream,  a 
dcn.se  swamp  stretched  away.  Cypress,  pine, 
beech,  magiiolias  towered  far  as  the  eye  could 
I'each,  and  now,  in  the  gathering  gloom  of 
ovening,  looked  sombre  and  solemn.  This 
was  a  favorite  haunt  of  Irene's  ;  she  knew 
erery  nook  of  the  forest  and  bend  of  the 
orcck  as  well  €as  the  shy  rai)bit«  that  flitted 
•way  at  her  approach;  and,  on  this  occasion, 
»he  sought  a  rude,  seat,  formed  by  the  inter- 
lacing of  two  wild  grape-vines.  At  her  feet 
thf.  channel  ran  deep  and  strong,  and  the 
ro<.'ky   bed    was   distinctly   seen ;    nut   a   few 


Reared  in  seclusion,  the  thought  of  being  sent 
from  her  beautiful,  lu.Kuriuus  home,  and  thrust 
among  utter  strangers,  startled  and  tilled  her 
with  dread.  She  was  astonished,  ])aincd,  and 
mortified  by  her  father's  har.-jh  language  ;  and, 
loving  him  very  sincerely,  she  shrank  from  the 
long  separation  he  threatened ;  yet,  amid  all 
these  complex  emotions,  she  felt  not  the  slight- 
est regret  for  the  course  she  had  pursued ; 
under  similar  circumstances  she  would  again 
act  just  as  she  ha<l  done.  Then  came  the  re- 
meinbrance  that  she  might  meet  her  unfor- 
tunate friends  no  more.  j\Irs.  Aubrey  waa 
evidently  declining  rapidly,  and  what  woidd 
become  of  .Electra  and  Russell  ?  They  n-.ight 
move  away;  they,  too,  might  die;  nay,  sh« 
might  «ever  come  back  to  the  honn;  of  her 
birth ;  death's  harvest  was  in  all  season.s,  and, 
looking  upon  the  lakelet,  she  shudJered  and 
moaned.  The  snowy  water-lilies  glanctnl  up 
a;  her,  and  seemed  to  say,  as  they  trembled 
unceasing:ly  in  the  current  far  below  the  sur- 
face, "  bend  !  bend  1"  A  pa.s3agc  in  Dante. 
which  she  had  read  the  week  belbre,  crossed 
her  mind  now,  as  she  noted  the  constant 
swaying  of  the  fragile  flowers,  so  impotent  to 
resist  that  under-current  sweeping  their  root*: 


■  No  other  plant. 


Covered  with  leoves,  or  bardoned  in  its  silaik, 
Th«?re  lives,  not  banding  w>  Iho  water' i<  sway." 

He  had  selected  reeds  a^  a  type  of  paticniio, 
but  the  pale,  pure,  quivering  lilies  were  to  her 
a  far  more"  impressive  symbol  of  resignation. 
An  aged  gnarled  i-ypress  towered  above  hor, 


yards  ofT  the  stream  widened  into  a  small  j  and  from  the  knotted  limb."!  drooped  long 
]ake,  and  there,  on  its  dark,  still  surface  !  funeral  wreaths  of  gray  moss,  thittering  mourn- 
luasses  of  wal^r-lilies  spread  out  their  broad,  j  fully  in  tho  evening  wind,  like  badges  of  crapn 
green,  flossy  leave*.  It  was  a  lonely  place;  ,  in  houses  of  death.  From  amid  this  sombro 
even  in  the  day  owls  hooted  one  to  another,  \  drapery  came  the  lonely  hoot  of  an  owl,  and, 
and  siraftgf,  harsh  T;rie9  were  heard  from  birds  I  with  a  strange  sensation  of  desolation,  tene 
that  never  forsook  the  swamp.  It  was  April,  j  fell  on  her  knees  and  committed  herinMf  to 
early  April,  and  from  the  hill-siile,  fringed  with  the  care  of  the  Great  Shepherd.  Darknesj 
honcy.«u<klcs  of  varied  huu,  and  festooned  with  closed  around,  but  as  she  prayed  the  silver 
yellow  jasmine  that  clambered  in  wild  luxuri-  rays  of  the  evening  «tar  peered  down  through 
ance  over  tree  and  shrub,  the  southern  breeze  '  the  trembling  streamers  of  mcMS,  and  glQained 
wafted  spicy,  intoxicating  aromas.     Redbuds    on  the  upturned  face.     Slic  broke  one  of  the 


lifU'd  their  rosy  limbs  again.st  dark,  polished 
inHgnolia.s,  and  here  and  there  masses  of  snow 


liUes,  and,  fastening  it  among  her  curls,  ibll.)i 


iUes, 


cd  Paragon  up  the  hill-.sidri.     The  week  which 


told  where  the  dogwoods  grew.  Clusters  of  succeeded  was  wretched  to  the  girl,  for  her 
TJoleta  embroiflrreJ  the  hill-sfide,  and  crimson  '  father's  sun^eillaucc  jircvcnted  her  from  visit- 
woodbine  trailed  over  the  ground,  catching  at  '  ing  the  cottage,  wven  to  say  adieu  to  it.-  in- 
eTery  droojtlng  bough,  and  alimbing  stealthily,    mates ;  and  no  altcrnatiTo  presented  itself  bul 


30 


MACARIA. 


to  leave  for  them  (in  the  hanrls  of  Nellie,  her 
devoted  nurse)  a  note  containinj  a  few  part- 
ing words  and  as.snrani-e.'?  of  unfadintr  friend- 
ship and  reun-mhranfe.  The  day  of  di-parture 
dawnrd  rainy,  gloomy, .and  the  wind  sobbed 
and  waikd  down  tlie  avenue  as  Irene  stood  at 
her  window,  looking  out  on  the  lawn  whx^re 
her  life  had  been  passed.  Although  Nellie 
was  weeping  bitterly  at  her  side,  she  had  not 
she.d  a  tear;  but  the  face  was  full  of  grief,  and 
her  little  hand.<  were  clasped  tiglitly  as  the 
faithful  nurse  pressed  them  aile  tionatcly  in 
her  palms.  Disengaging  h(;rself,  Frene  took 
an  umbrella  and  went  to  the  stable  for  a  last 
look  at  Erebus.  This  tried  her  sorely,  and 
her  Hp  was  unsteady  wiien  she  left  him  and 
sought  Paragon.  The  Jatter,  little  su.''pecting 
the  true  state  of  afTains,  gambolled  and  whined 
lis  joyou.sly  as  ever  at  Iht  approaeh:  and, 
when  the  <TOwned  head  went  down  moaning- 
ly  on  his  silky  neek,  he  bark<-d  and  frisked  in 
recognition  of  the  caress.  The  breakfast-bell 
fiummoned  her  away,  and,  a  half-hour  after, 
she  saw  the  lofty  colinnns  of  the  old  house 
fad(!  from  view,  and  kiie\r  that  many  months, 
perhai>s  years,  mu?t  elapse  before  the  ancestral 
trees  of  the  long  avenue  would  wave^a^ain 
over  the  head  of  their  young  mistress.  Her 
father  sat  beside  her,  moody  and  silent,  and, 
when  the  brick  wall  and  arched  iron  gate 
•vanished  from  her  sight,  she  sank  back  in  one 
corner,  and,  covering  her  face  witli  her  hands, 
smothered  a  groan,  and  fought  desperately 
with  her  voiceless  anguish. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Youth  is  hopeful,  beautifully  hopeful,  and 
fresh,  pure  hearts  rebound  ivmn  sorrow  with 
wonderful  elasticity.  When  cloud.s  lower  and 
the  way  seems  dark  and  tangled  hope  (lies 
forward,  pioneer-like,  to  clear  away  all  obsta- 
cles. Huge  barriers  frowaeil  between  Electra 
and  the  lieightK  she  strained  tivery  nerve  to 
reach,  but  never  for  an  inslant  did"  she  doubt 
the  success  of  the  strug^ile.  J.ike  Orpheus 
seeking  Eurydice,  to  look  back  was  fearful 
and  liazardous;  and  fixing  h(!r  eycis  steadily 
on  the  future,  she  allowed  herself  no  haunting 
foreboding. 

"Cry,  fiiint  not!  cliiiili  Ihn  mimniil's  slope 
Hityoiifl  the  fiirthcBt  OiKlitu  of  liope. 
AVnipt  in  Ueuse  cloud  fiyuj  bime  to  copo." 

What  human  powers  can  , endure  and^  ac- 
complish is  to  be  measured  only  by  the  neces- 
sity which  goads,  and  all  heivulean  trophies 
are  won  by  desperate  needs.  'I'he  laws  which 
govern  our  moral  and  intellectual  natures  arc 
as  rigid  and  inevitable  in  their  operation  as 
those  v,-hose  workings  we  constantly  trace  in 
the  physical  world;  of  which  truth  the  histoiy 
of  nations  and  memoirs  of  great  men  furnish 
innumerable  exempli/ications.    Consequently, 


j  it  is  both  unjust  and  illogical  to  judge  of  the 
probability  of  this  or  that  event'  or  .series  of 
j  event.s.  or  the  naturalness  of  this  or  that  char- 
j  acter,  whether  in  authenticated  history  or  fic- 
titious works,  without  a  thorough  acipiiintance 
I  with  all  antecedents,  and  the  various  relations 
:  surrounding  the  actor.     Reader,  as  you  walk 
'  side  by  side  with  these  whose  lives  I  am  nar- 
rating, bear  this  in  mind — the  .«ilvcr-winged 
,  pigeons  that  flath  in  and  out  of  the  venerable 
j  trees  shailing  the  old  homi-stead,  and  coo  and 
!  flutter  amid  the  raiiibow  spray  of  the  fountain, 
J  would  dmoj),  shiver,  and  die'  on  bald,  awful 
[  Aljjine   pinnacles,  where   in  tht   fierce   howl 
and  scourging  of  temjiests   eagleti' wheel   in 
[  triumph,  and  scream  defiantly;  and  tender  pet 
lambs,  coaxed  into  flowery,"  luxuriant  mead- 
ows,  would   soon   make  their  graves   in   the 
I  murderous  snow  over  which  young  chamois 
]  bleat  and  skip  in  wild  glee,  fearless  as  the 
'  everlasting  hills. 

j  Day  after  day  Electra  toiled  over  her  work ; 
I  the  (lelicate  frame  learned  its  destiny,  sighed 
!  at  its  future,  but  grew  strong;  and  c'ompTain- 
^  iiig  nerves,  catching  some  of  her  iron  resolve, 
!  endured  patiently — became  finally  thoroughly 
inured  to  their  arduous  duties.  Her  aunt 
constantly  claimed  her  attention  for  the  vari- 
ous little  offices  so  grateful  to  an  invalid,  but 
by  an  extraordinary  alchemy  ^he  contrived  to 
convert  every  interruption  into  an  occasion 
of  profit.  If  lending  her  arm  to  support  the 
(hooping  form  in  a  »hort  walk  around  the 
little  garden,  she  would  describe  the  vary- 
ing tints  of  sky.  a«  the  clouds  shilVed  their  gor- 
geous curtains  oi'  purj^e  and  scarlet  and  gold, 
until  thoroughly  familiarized  with  the  varied 
chameleon  hues  and  strange,  grotesque  out- 
lines traced  by  every  rifl.  Nature  was  a 
vast  storehouse  of  inatchle»s,  unapproachable 
beauty  to  that  eager,  thirsty  soul — a  boundless 
studio,  filled  with  wonderful  creations,  open  to  V 
her  at  all  times— in  the  rosy,  opaline  flush  of 
niormng,  the  blazing  splendor  of  full-orbed 
noon,  the  silver  gray  of  twilight,  peopled  with 
dusky  phantoms,  wcinl  and  shifting  as  Fata- 
Morgana— the  still  sublimity,  the  solemn,  sa- 
cred witchery  of  •star-erowned,  immemorial 
Night.  She  answered  the  first  hoarse  call  of 
thunder  by  stationing  herself  at  the  window  to 
watch  the  stormy  panorama  sweep  over  the 
heavens;  and  not  Ruysdael,  nor  Vaudcrvelde, 
iior  Turner  ever  gazed  with  more  intense  de- 
light on  the  hurrying  masses  of  vapor  than  that 
fragile  girl,  as  sh'e  stood  with  the  forked  light- 
ning glaring  luridly  over  her  upturned,  enrap- 
tured face.  Favored  ones  of  fortune  lean  ' 
against  marble  pillars  in  royal  museums,  to 
stufly  the  imperishable;  works  of  earth's  grand- 
est ol<l  artists;  but  she  lived  in  a  cosmopolitan 
temple,  whose  skyey  frescos  were  fresh  from 
the  hands  of  Jeliovah  himself.  The  rapidity 
of  h<!r  progress  astonished  Mr.  Clifton.  Ho 
(juestioned  her  concerning  the  processes  she 
employed  in  some  of  her  curious  combinations. 


MACARIA. 


31 


but  the  frnjimentary,  abstracted  nabire  of  her 
conversation  during  the  hours  of  instruction 
gave  him  little  satisfactory  information.  His' 
interest  in  her  increased,  until  finally  it  be- 
came absorbinji;,  and  he  gave  her  all  the  time 
that  she  could  spare  from  home.  The  eager- 
ness with  which  she  listened  to  his  directions, 
'the  facility  witli  which  she  applied  his  rules, 
fully  ^repnid  him ;  and  from  day  to  day  he  post- 
poned his  return  to  the  North,  reluctant  to 
leave  his  indefatigable  pupil.  Now  and  then 
the  time  of  departure  was  fixed,  but  ere  it  ar- 
rived he  wavered  and  procrastinated. 

Electra  km^w  that  his  stay  had  been  pro- 
longed beyond  his  original  intention,  and  she 
dreaded  tiie  hour  when  she  should  be  de- 
prived of  his  aid  and  advice.  Though  their 
acquaintance  had  been  so  short,  a  strangely 
strong  feeling  had  grown  up  in  her  heart 
toward  Inm  ;  a  feeling  of  clinging  tenderness, 
blended  with  earnest,  undying  gratitude.  She 
knew  that  he  understood  iicr  character  and 
apprc(;iatod  her  struggles,  and  it  soothed  her 
fierce,  proud  heart,  in  some  degree,  to  receive 
from  him  those  tokens  of  constant  remem- 
brance which  she  so  yearned  to  have  from 
Russell.  She  felt,  too,  that  she  was  not  re- 
garded as  a  stranger  by  the  artist ;  she  could 
see  his  sad  eyes  brighten  at  her  entrance,  and 
detect  the  tremor  in  his  hand  and  voice  when 
he  spoke  of  going  home.  Plis  health  had 
improved,  and  the  heat  of  summer  had  come; 
why  did  he  linger?  His  evenings  were  often 
spcut  at  the  (!ottage,  and  even  Mrs.  Aubi-ey 
learned  to  smile  at  the  sound  of  his  step. 

One  morning  as  Electra- finished  her  lesson 
and  rose  to  go,  he  said  slawly,  as  if  watching 
the  efl'ect  of  his  words : 

"  This  is  the  last  hour  I  can  give  you.  In 
two  days  i  return  to  New  York.  Letters  of 
importance  came  this  morning;  I  have  waited 
here  too  long  already." 

"  Are  you  in  earnest  this  time  ?" 

"  I  am ;  it  is  absolutely  Ui^essary  that  I 
should  return  home." 

"  Mr.  Clifton,  what  shall  I  do  without  you  ?" 

"  Suppose  you  had  never  seen  me  '/" 

"  Tiien  I  should  not  h;ive  had  to  lose  you. 
Oh,  sir !  I  need  you  very  much." 

"  Electra,  child,  you  will  conquer  your  difS- 
cultic  without  as.sistance  from  auy  one.  You 
have  notiiiug  to  fear." 

"  Yes,  I  know  I  shall  conquer  at  last,  but 
the  way  would  bo  so  much  easier  if  you  were 
only  wilii  me.  I  ghall  m^ss  you  i^orc  than  I 
can  titW  you." 

He  pas>;ed  his  hand  over  her  short  shining 
hair,  and  mused  'for  a  moment  as  if  laying 
confll'ting  I  motions  in  the  balance.  She  heard 
his  de.^p,  labored  breathing,  and  saw  the 
working  of  the  muscles  in  his  pale  face;  when 
he  spokH,  his  voice  was  husk}': 

"  Voii  .'re  right;  you  need  me,  and  I  want 
you  always  with  me;  we  must  not  be  parted. 
Electra,  1  ;--^y  we  shall  not.     Come  to  me,  put 


your  hands  in  mine  —  promise  me  that  you 
will  be  my  child,  my  pupil ;  I  will  take  you  to 
my  mother,  and  we  need  never  be  separated. 
Y'^ou  require  aid,  such  as  can  not  be  liad  here ; 
in  New  York  you  shall'  have  all  that  you 
want.     Will  you  come  with  me?" 

He  held  her  hands  in  a  vice-like  grasp,  and 

[  looked  pleadingly  into  her  astonished  counte- 
nance. A  uifst  gathered  before  her,  and  she 
closed  her  eyes. 

"  Electra,  will  you  come  ?" 
"  Give  me  ten  minutes  to  think,"  she  an- 
swered .'<liivcringly.  He  turned  away  and 
walked  \ip  and  down  the  floor,  taking  care 
to  conceal  hi.s  facr.  She  sat  down  before  a 
table  and  dropped  her-  forehead  in  her  palms. 

I  What  slight  things  often  shap<;  human  des- 

I  tiny ;  how  little  people  realize  the  conse- 
quences of  seemingly  trivial  words,  looks,  or 
actions  ?  The  day  before  Electra  would  un- 
hesitatingly have  declined  this  proposition; 
but  only  that  morning,  as  she  passed  Rus- 
sell's door  before  breakfast,' she  saw  him  with 
Irene's  farewell  note  in  his  hand ;   saw  him 

j  press  his  lips  hastily  to  the  signature.  Her 
jealous  heart  was  on  fire;  the  consciousness 
of  his  love  lor  another  rendered  her  reckless 
and  indescribably  miserable.  In  this  mood 
she   reflected ;  'Mr.    Clifton   seemed   to  have 

I  become  warmly  attached  to  her,  and  could 
help  her  to  attain  the  eminence  she  had  in 
view ;  she  was  poor,  why  not  accept  his  gen- 
erous olTer?  Russell  would  not  miss  her — 
would  not  care  whether  ghe  left  him  or  re- 
mained. If  she  were  far  alway,  at  least  she 
would  not  be  tormented  by  his  coldness  and 
indiifcrcnce.  Tiie  future  (barring  her  ambi- 
tious dreams)  was  dim,  joyless ;  she  had  to 
earn  a  support,  she  S(!orned  tM  h<;  dep*'ndent 
on  her  cousin,  fame  lured  her  on.  Y\'.s,  she 
wonld  go.'  Mr.  Clifton  took  out  his  watch 
and  paused  beside  her  : 

"  Ten  minutes  have  passed ;  Electra,  will 
you  com(^  ?" 

She  raised  her  bloodless  face,  stamped  with 
stern  resolve,  and  ere  the  words  were  pro- 
nounced he  read  his  answer  in  the  d"fiant 
gleam  of  her  eyes,  in  the  hard,  curved  lines  of 
the  mouth. 

"Mr.  Clifton,  I  can  not  go  with  you  just 
now,  for  at  present  I  can  not,  ought  not,  to 
lea.ve  my  aunt.  Helpless  as  she  is,  it  would 
be  cruel,  ungrateful,  to  desert  her  ;  but  things 
can  not  continue  this  wa}'  much  longer,  and  I 
promise  you  that  as  soon  as  I  can  I  will  go  to 
you.  I  want  to  be  with  you;  I  want  somc- 
lindy  to  care  for  me,  and  1  know  you  will  be  a 
kind  friend  always.  Most  gratefully  will  I 
accept  your  gentrous  ofler  so  soon  as  I  feel 
that  I  can  do  .so." 

He  stooped,  and  touched  her  forehead  with 
his  lips. 

"My  dear  Electra,!  will  shield  you  from 

'  trials  and  difficulties;  I  will  prize  you  above 
everything  on  earth ;  I  know  you  are  making 


32 


MACARIA. 


a  firoat  sacrifice  to  Ix*  with  mc 

hani  it  i>i  tor  you  to  leave  home  and  relatives 

But,  ID}'  fJiild,  your  aunt   li.u  only   a  short    folds   of 


I  know  how  I  drn  d  lo   t;ie   anjiraachinj^  shores  of  another 
rcahn,  and  she  thanked  (nxl  that  thou£ih  tliick 


darkness  shrouded  earth,  the  veil 
time  to  live;  she  is  failing  very  fast,  r.nd  your  '  dropped  from  her  soul  and  the  ypirirualaigion 
duty  to  her  w  111  not  keep  you  here  lon;j;.  You  j;rew  elear  and  piereinp.  If  faith  and  resijj- 
are  lijjht  to  lemain  witii  her,  but  when  she  i  nation  could  be  tauj^ht  like  niussie  or  .uith- 
needs  you  no  Miora  I  ^IJall  expert  yoii  to  eomti  ■  metie,  tlien  had  Eleetra  learned  the  <:randest 
to  me  in  New  York.  Aleauliine,  I  yhall  write  |  truths  of  Christianity;  but  it  is  a  mournful 
to  you  fre<iuently,  and  sujiply  you  with  uneh  ;  faet  that  the  bloody  Heal  of  Experience  raust 
books  and  materiab  as  you  require.  My  i  stamp  the  lesson  ere  deep  thinker.*  or  strong 
pupil,  1  long  to  have  you  in  my  own  home,  nalure.s  receive  it,  and  as  she  watclied  that 
k<:uu'.mber,  no  matter  what  happens,  you  have  precious  life  fade,  like  the  purple  li;iht  of 
proutised  yourself  to  me."  summer  in  evening  skies,  the  only  fceliu"  she 

'•I  shall  not  forget;"  but  he  saw  her  shud-  knew  was  that  of  }j;ricf  for  the  impending 
der.  '  '  loss-r-undefined  apprehension  of  commg   iso- 

"  Shall  I  s]«cak  to  your  aunt  about  this  lation.  If  Mrs.  Anbrey  could  have  seen  the 
matter  before  J  go  ?"  I  countenance  which  bent  over  her  pillow,  her 

*•  No,  it  would  only  distress  her;  leave  it  all  .serene  soul  would  have  been  painfully  dis- 
with  nw.  It  is  late,  and  1  must  go.  Good.-  turbed.  She  felt  hot  tears  fall  on  herhands 
by.  sir."  '  and    cheeks,  and  knew   that   the   lips   which 

He  promised  to  sec  her  again  before  his  de-    pressed  hers  often  tiembled;  but  this  seemed 

Eariure,  anrl  she  walked  home  witk  her  head    natural  enough  uiider  the  cireumslances,  and 
owed  and  a  sharp  continual  pain  gnawing  at    she  sank  quietly  down   to   the   edge   of  the 
Uer  heart.  tomb  ignorant  of  the  sorrows  that  racked  the 

In  the  calm,  peaceful  years  of  ordinary  i  girl's  heart.  One  juorning  when  Mv.  Cam{>- 
chiljliood,  the  .foul  matures  slowly;  but  a  bell,  the  pastor,  had  spent  some  time  in  the 
vol<  auie  nature  like  Electra's,  subjected  to  |  sick-room  praying  with  the  suflerer,  and  ad- 
galllng  trials,  rapidly  hardens,  and  answers  I  ministering  the  sacrament  of  the  Lord's  j<up- 
every  stroke  with  the  metallic  ring  of  age.  ;  per,  Electra  followed  hipi  to  the  door,  leaving 
Keen  susceptibility  to  joy  or  pain  taught  her  llussell  with  his  mother.  The  gentle  pastor 
early  what  less  impressive  characters  are  took  her  hand  kindly,  and  lookeil  at  her  with 
yeais  in  learning,  and  it  was  lamentably  true    filling  eyes. 

that,  while  yet   a  mere  girl,  she  sulFered   as        "  You  think  niy  aunt  is  worse  ?" 
.acutely  as  a  woman.     The  battle  of  life  must        "  Y'es,   my  child.     I  think  that   very  sum 
be"  I'uught,  and  if  one  begins  .skirmishing  in    she  will  be  with  her  God.     She  will  siarcely 
the  ( r.idle,  tactics  are  soon   learned,  and  the    survive  till  night — " 

conllict.  ends  more  speedily.  But  Electra  She  turned  abruptly  from  him,  and  threw 
had  also  conned  another  less^on:  to  lock  her  j  herself  down  across  the  foot  of  the  bed,  biiry- 
troubles  in  her  own  heart,  voicing  no  com-  i  ing  her  face  in  her  arms.  Jiussell  sat  with 
piainL,  and  when  she  sought  her  aunt,  and  \  his  mother's  hands  in  his,  while  she  turned  her 
r^Kid  aloud  the  favorite  chapters  in  the  Bible,  ,  brow.n  eyes  toward  him,  and  exhorleti  him  to 
or  led  her  up  and  down  the  garden-walk,  \  eonunit  himself  and  his  future  to  the  hands  of 
talking  of  various  things,  telling  of  the  growth  j  a  mei'cilul  GfKl.  She  told  him  how  the  prom- 
of  pet  plants,  there  was  no  indii;ation  what-  !  ises  of  the  Saviour  had  supported  and  <,heer»>d 
eve'-  oi'  any  unusual  strife  or  extraordinary  '  her  in  limfts  of  great  need,  and  inqilored  him 
occurrence.  '  Russell  knew  that  a  change  had  to  dedicate  his  energies,  his  talents,  iiis  life,  t« 
come  over  his  lou.^in,  Lut  was  to6  constantly  [  the  service  of  his  Maker.  El'-etra  was  not 
eiig.igeil,  too  entirely  absoi^jed  by  his  studies,  i  forgotten  ;  she  advised  her  to  go  to  a  cousin  of 
to  ask  or  analyze  the  cause.  She  never  i  her  mother  residing  in  Virginia.  Long  before 
watched  at  the  gate  lor  him  now,  never  i  she  had  written  to  this  lady,  inlbrnung  her  of 
sprang  with  outstretched  arms  to  meet  him,  !4ier  own  fi'cbleness  and  of  the  girl's  lielplcM 
never  hung  over  the  back  of  his  chkir  and  I  condition  ;  and  a  kind  answer  had  b(!en  re- 
eare!-?ed  his  hands  as  formerly.  When  not  j  turned,  cordially  inviting  the  or]'l)an  to  sliar« 
wailing  upon  her  aunt  she  was  as  intent  '  her  home,  to  become  an  inmate  of  her  house, 
on  her  books  as  he,  and,  though  invariably  :  Kd.ssell  could  take  llir  to  these  relatives  as 
kind  aad  unselfish  in  her  conduct  toward  j  soon  as  possible.  To  all  this  no  reply  waa. 
him,  slie  was  evidently  constrained  in  his  pres-  j  made,  and,  a  few  moments  later,  when  llus- 
ence.  As  the  summer  wore  on  Mrs.  Aubrey's  ■  sell  kissed  her  tenderly  and  raised  her  pillow, 
health  failed  rapidly,  and  she  was  confined  to 
her  cou<li.  There,  in  a  low  chair  close  to  the 
pillow,  .sat  Electra  reading,  talking,  exerting 
herstif  to  the  utmost  to  cheer  the  widow. 
She  Tilled  the  thin  fingers  with   dewy 


she  said  faintly- 

"  W  I  could  look  upon  your  face  once  more, 
my  son,  it  would  not  be  hard  to  die.  Let  me 
see  you  in  heavwi,  my  dear,  dear  boy."  These 
were  the  last  words,  and  soon  af^er  a  stupor 

and  expatiated  on  the  glories  of   the   outer  I  fell  upon  her.     Hour  after  hour  passed;  Mrs. 

world,  while  the  thoughts  of  the  invalid  wau-  |  Campbell  came  and  sat  beside  the  bod,  and 


roses. 


\ 


MACARIA. 


SS 


the  three  remained  silent,  now  and  then  lift- 
ing bowed  heads  to  look  at  the  sleeper.  Not 
a  sound  broke  the  stillness  save  the  occasional 
chirp  of  a  cricket,  and  a  shy  niouse  crept 
twice  across  the  floor,  wondering  at  the 
silence,  fixing  its  twinkling  bright  eyes  on 
the  motionless  figures.  The  autumn  day  died 
slowly  as  the  Avidow,  and  when  the  clock 
dirged  out  the  sunset  hour  Russell  rose,  and, 
putting  back  the  window -curtains,  stooped 
and  laid  his  face  close  to  his  mother's.  Life  is 
at  best  a  struggle,  and  such  perfect  repose  as 
greeted  liim  is  found  only  when  the  marble 
hands  of  Death  transfer  the  soul  to  its  guar- 
dian angel.  No  pulsation  stirred  the  folds 
over  the  heart,  or  the  soft  bands  of  hair  on 
the  blue-veined  temples;  the  still  mouth  had 
breathed  its  last  sigh,  and  the  meek  brown 
ej'es  had  opened  in  eternity.  The  long,  fierce 
ordeal  liad  ended,  the  flames  died  out,  and 
from  smouldering  ashes  the  purified  spirit 
that  had  toiled  and  fainted  not,  that  had  been 
faithful  to  the  end,  patiently  bearing  many 
crosses,  heard  the  voice  of  the  Great  Shep- 
herd, and  soared  joyfully  to  the  pearly  gates 
of  the  Everlasting  Home.  The  day  boi'e  her 
away  on  its  wings,  and  as  Russell  touched  the 
icy  cheek  a  despairing  cry  rolled  thi-ough  the 
silent  cottage — 

"  Oh, mother!  my  own  precious  dead  moth- 
er !" 

Falling  on  his  knees,  he  laid  his  head  on 
her  pillow,  and  when  kind  friendly  hands  bore 
her  into  the  adjoining  room,  he  knelt  there 
still,  un(;onscious  of  what  passed,  knowing 
only  that  the  keenest  of  many  blows  had 
fallen,  that  the  last  and  bitterest  vial  of  sor- 
rows had  been  emptied. 

Night  folded  her  starry  curtains  around  the 
earth ;  darkness  settled  on  river  and  hill  and 
valley.  It  was  late  September;  autumn 
winds  rose,  eager  for  their  work  of  death, 
and  rushed  rudely  through  the  forests,  shaking 
the  sturdy  primeval  monarchs  in  token  of 
their  mission  and  mastery ;  and  shivering 
leaves  rustled  down  before  them,  drifting  into 
tiny  grave-like  hillocks.  Gradually  the" stars 
caught  the  contagious  gloom,  and  shrank  be- 
hind the  cloud-skirts  sweeping  the  cold  sky. 
It  was  a  solemn,  melancholy  night,  full  of 
dreary  phantom*,  presaging  a  dark,  dismal 
morrow.  Amy  Aubrey's  still  form  reposed  on 
the  draped  table  in  the  kitchen,  and  the  fitful 
candle-light  showed  only  a  dim,  rigid  outline 
of  white  linen.  Mr.  Campbell  and  his  wife 
sat  together  in  the  next  room,  and  the  two 
young  mourners  were  left  in  the  silence  of  the 
kitchen.  Russell  sat  at  the  open  window, 
near  the  table ;  his  head  leaned  on  his  hand, 
tearless,  mute,  still  as  his  mother.  At  the  op- 
posit(!  window  stood  Electra,  pressing  her  face 
against  the  frame,  looking  out  into  the  moan-  I 
ing,  struggling  night,  striving  to  read  the  1 
mystic  charact-ers  dimly  traced  on  the  asli-grav  i 
hurrying  cloadK  hm  the  recklew  winds  parted  1 
S 


their  wan  folds.  The  stony  face  of  her  mer- 
ciless destiny  seemed  to  frown  down  at  her, 
cold,  grim,  Sphinx-like.  Hitherto  she  had 
walked  with  loved  ones;  now  a  vast  sepulchre 
yawned  to  receive  them ;  a  tomb  of  clay  for 
the  quiet  sleeper,  one  of  perhaps  final  separa- 
tion for  Russell,  and  over  this  last  hideous 
chasm  Hope  hovered  with  drooping  wings. 
To  leave  him  was  like  inurning  her  heart  and 
all  the  joy  she  had  ever  known  ;  and  then,  to 
crown  her  agony,  a  thousand  Furies  hissed 
"  Irene  will  come  back,  and  loving  her  he  will 
forget  that  you  toil  among  strangers." 

She  crushed  her  fingers  against  each  other 
and  stifled  a  groan,  while  the  chilling  voice  of 
Destiny  added :  "  trample  out  this  weakness, 
your  path  and  his  here  separate  widely ;  you 
are  nothing  to  liim,  go  to  work  earnestly,  and 
cease  repining."  She  shrank  away  from  the 
window,  and  approached  her  cousin.  For  two 
hours  he  had  not  changed  his  position ;  as  far 
as  she  knew,  had  not  moved  a  muscle.  She 
sat  down  at  his  feet  and  crossed  her  arms  over 
his  knees ;  he  took  no  notice  of  her. 

"  Oh,  Russell !  say  something  to  me,  or  I 
shall  die." 

It  was  the  last  wail  she  ever  suffered  to 'es- 
cape her  in  his  j)resence.  He  raised  liis  head 
anil  put  his  hand  on  her  forehead,  but  the  trem- 
bling lips  refused  their  office,  and  as  she  looked 
up  at  him  tears  rolled  slowly  down  and  fell  on 
her  cheek.  She  would  have  given  worlds  to 
mingle  her  tears  with  his,  but  no  moisture 
came  to  her  burning  eyes;  and  there  these 
two,  so  soon  to  separate,  passed  the  remaining 
hours  of  that  long  wretched  night  of  watch- 
ing. The  stormy  day  lifted  her  pale,  mourn- 
ful face  at  last,  and  with  it  came  the  dreary 
patter  and  sobbing  of  autumn  rain,  making  it 
doubly  harrowing  to  commit  the  precious  form 
to  its  long,  last  resting-place.  Electra  stood 
up  beside  her  cousin  and  folded  her  arms  to- 
gether. 

"  Russell,  I  am  not  going  to  that  cousin  in 
Virginia.  I  could  owe  my  bread  and  clothes 
to  you,  but  not  to  her.  She  has  children,  and 
I  do  not  intend  to  live  on  her  charity.  I  know 
you  and  I  must  part ;  the  sooner  the  better. 
I  would  not  be  willing  to  burden  you  a  day 
longer.  I  am  going  to  fit  myself  to  work  prof- 
itably. Mr.  Clifton  ^ofTered  me  a  home  in  his 
house,  said  his  mother  was  lonely,  and  would 
be  rejoiced  to  have  me ;  that  letter  which  I 
received  last  week  contained  one  from  her, 
also  urging  me  to  come ;  and,  Russell,  I  am 
going  to  New  York  to  study  with  him  as  long 
as  I  need  instruction.  I  did  not  tell  aunt  of 
this,  because  I  knew  it  would  grieve  her  to 
think  that  I  would  be  thrown  with  strangers ; 
and  having  fully  determined  to  take  this  step, 
thought  it  best  not  to  distress  her  by  any  allu- 
sion to  it.  You  know  it  is  my  own  affair,  and 
I  can  decide  it  better  than  any  one  else." 

His  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  shrouded  table, 
and  he  answerud  without  lookiu';  at  bar : 


•    / 


34 


MACARIA. 


"  No,  Electra,  you  must  go  to  Mrs.  Harden ; 
she  seems  anxious  to  have  you;  and  as  for 
being  dependent  on  charity,  you  never  shall 
be,  so  long  as  I  live.  You  will  merely  re.side 
imder  her  roof,  and  shall  not  cost  her  a  cent; 
leave  this  with  me." 

"  I  can  not  leave  it  with  any  body  ;  I  must 
depend  upon  myself.  I  have  thought  a  great 
deal  about  it,  and  my  resolution  is  not  to  be 
shaken.  You  have  been  very  kind  to  me, 
Russell,  all  my  life;  and  only  God  knows  how 
I  love  and  thank  you.  But  I  Avill  not  accept 
your  hard  earnings  in  future ;  I  should  be  mis- 
erable unless  at  work,  and  I  tell  you  I  must 
and  will  go  to  Mr.  Clifton." 

He  looked  at  her  now,  surprised  and  pained. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you,  Electra  V 
Have  I  not  sorrovTs  enough,  that  you  must  try 
to  add  another  by  your  obstinacy  ?  What 
would  she  think  of  you  V" 

He  rose,  and  laid  his  hand  on  the  pure 
smooth  brow  of  the  dead. 

"  There  is  nothing  new  the  matter  with  me. 
1  have  determined  to  go;  nobody  has  any 
right  to  control  uie,  and  it  is  worse  than  use- 
less for  you  to  oppose  me.  We  have  but  little 
time  to  spend  together,  do  not  let  us  quarrel 
here  in  her  presence.  Let  there  be  peace  be- 
tween us  in  these  last  hours.  Oh,  Russell  I  it 
is  hard  enough  to  part,  even  in  love  and  kind- 
ness ;  do  not  add  painful  contention." 

"  So  you  prefer  utter  strangers  to  your  rela- 
tives and  friends  ?" 

"  Ties  of  blood  are  not  the  strongest ;  stran- 
gers step  in  to  aid  where  relatives  sometimes 
stand  aloof,  and  watch  a  fatal  struggle.  Re- 
member Irene ;  who  is  nearer  to  you,  she  or 
your  grandfather?  Such  a  friend  Mr.  Clif- 
ton is  to  me,  and  go  to  him  I  will  at  all  haz- 
ards.    Drop  the  subject,  if  you  please." 

He  looked  at  her  an  instant,  then  turned 
once  more  to  his  mother's  face,  and  his  cou&in 
left  them  together. 

The  day  was  so  inclement  that  only  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Campbell  and  Russell's  emi)loyer 
attended  the  funeral.  These  few  followed  the 
gentle  sleeper,  and  laid  her  down  to  rest  till 
the  star  of  eternity  dawns;  and  the  storm 
chanted  a  long,  thrilling  requiem  as  the  wet 
mound  rose  above  the  cofFm. 

Back  to  a  deserted  home,  whence  the  crown 
of  joy  has  been  borne.  What  a  hideous  rack 
stands  at  the  hearth-stone  whereon  merciless 
memory  stretches  the  bereaved  ones.  In  hours 
such  as  this,  we  cry  out  fiercely :  "  The  sun  of 
our  life  has  gone  down  in  starless,  everlasting 
night;  earth  has  no  more  glory,  no  more 
bloom  or  fragrance  for  us ;  the  voices  of  glee- 
ful children,  the  carol  of  summer  birds,  take 
the  mournful  measure  of  a  dirge.  We  hug 
this  great  grief  to  our  hearts;  we  hold  our 
darling  dead  continually  before  us,  and  refuse 
to  be  glad  again."  We  forget  that  Prome- 
theus has  passed  from  the  Avorld.  Time  bears 
precious  healing  on  its  broad  pinions;  folds 


its  arms  compassionately  about  us  as  a  pitying 
father;  sortly  binds  up  the  jagged  wounds, 
drugs  memory,  and  though  the  poisonous  sting 
is  occasionally  thrust  forth,  she  soon  relapses 
into  stupor.  So  in  the  infinite  mercy  of  our 
God,  close  at  the  heels  o!"  Azrael,  follow  the 
winged  liours  laden,  like  Sisters  of  Charity, 
with  balm  for  the  people. 

The  kind-hearted  pastor  and  his  wife  urged 
the  orphans  to  remove  to  their  house  for  a 
few  days  at  least,  until  the  future  could  be 
mapped ;  but  they  preferred  to  meet  and  bat- 
tle at  once  with  the  spectre  which  they  knew 
stood  waiting  in  the  desolate  cottage.  At 
midnight  a  heavy  sleep  fell  on  Russell,  who 
had  thrown  himself  upon  his  mother's  couch ; 
and,  softly  spreading  a  shawl  over  him,  Elec- 
tra sat  down  by  the  dying  fire  on  the  kitchen 
hearth  and  looked  her  future  in  the  face.  A 
few  days  sufiiced  to  prepare  for  her  journey ; 
and  a  gentleman  from  New  York,  who  had 
met  her  cousin  in  Mr.  Campbell's  office,  con- 
sented to  take  charge  of  her,  and  commit  her 
to  Mr.  Clifton's  hands.  The  scanty  furniture 
was  sent  to  an  auction-room,  and  a  piece  of 
board  nailed  to  the  gate-post  announced  that 
the  cottage  was"  for  rent.  Russell  decided  to 
take  his  meals  at  a  boarding-house,  and  oc- 
cupy a  small  room  over  the  office,  which  Mr. 
Campbell  had  placed  at  his  disposal.  On  the 
same  day,  the  cousins  bade  adieu  to  the  only 
spot  they  had  called  "  home  "  for  many  years, 
and  as  Russell  locked  the  door  and  joined 
Electra,  his  melancholy  face  expressed,  far 
better  than  words  could  have  done,  the  pain 
it  cost  him  to  quit  the  house  where  his  idolized 
mother  had  lived,  suffered,  and  died.  Mr. 
Colton  was  waiting  for  Electra  at  the  hotel, 
whither  the  stage  had  been  driven  for  pas- 
sengers ;  and  as  she  drew  near  and  saw  her 
trunk  among  others  piled  on  top,  she  stopped 
and  grasped  Russell's  hand  between  both 
hers.  A  livid  paleness  settled  on  her  face, 
while  her  wild  black  eyes  fastened  on  his 
features.  She  might  never  see  him  again; 
he  was  far  dearer  to  her  than  her  life;  how 
could  she  bear  to  leave  him,  to  put  hundreds 
of  miles  between  that  face  and  her  own  ? 
An  icy  hand  clutched  her  heart  as  she  gazed 
into  his  decj),  sad,  beautiful  eyes.  His  feel- 
ing for  her  was  a  steady,  serene  affection, 
such  as  brothers  have  for  dear  young  sisters, 
and  to  give  her  up  now  filled  him  with  genu- 
ine, earnest  sorrow. 

"  Electra,  it  is  very  hard  to  tell  you  good- 
by.  You  are  all  I  have  left,  and  I  shall(  be' 
desolate  indeed  %vhen  you  are  away.  But 
the  separation  will  not  be  long,  I  trust ;  in  a 
few  years  we  shall  be  able  to  have  another 
home;  and  where  my  home  is,  yours  must 
always  be.  Toil  stretches  before  me  like  a 
sandy  desert,  but  I  shall  cross  it  safely ;  and. 
then,  Electra,'  my  dear  cousin,  we  shall  be 
parted  no  more.  I  should  feel  far  better  sat- 
isfied if  you  were  with  Mrs.  Harden,  but  yoa 


MACARIA. 


35 


determined  otherwise,  and,  as  you  told  me  a 
few  days  ago,  I  Lave  no  right  to  control  you. 
Write  to  me  often,  and  believe  that  I  shall  do 
all  that  a  brother  could  for  you.  Mr.  Colton 
is  waiting;  good-by,  darling." 

He  bent  down  to  kiss  her,  and  the  strained, 
tortured  look  that  greeted  him  he  never  for- 
got. She  put  her  arms  around  his  neck,  and 
clung  to  him  like  a  shivering  weed  driven  by 
rough  winds  against  a  stone  wall.  He  re- 
moved her  clasping  arms,  and  led  her  to  Mr. 
Colton;  but  as  the  latter  offered  to  assist  her 
into  the  stage,  she  drew  back,  that  Russell 
might  perform  that  office.  Wliile  he  almost 
lifted  her  to  a  seat,  her  fingers  refused  to 
release  his,  and  he  was  forced  to  disengage 
them.  Other  passengers  entered,  and  the  door 
was  closed.  Russell  stood  near  the  window, 
and  said  gently,  pitying  her  suffering : 

"  Electra,  wont  you  say  good-by  ?" 

She  leaned  out  till  her  cheek  touched  Iiis, 
and  in  a  hoarse  tone  uttered  the  fluttering 
words : 

"Oh,  Russell!  Russell!  good-by!  May 
God  have  mercy  on  me  !" 

And  the  stage  rolled  swiftly  on ;  men 
laughed,  talked,  and  smoked  ;  an  October  sun 
filled  the  sky  with  glory,  and  gilded  the  trees 
on  the  road-side ;  flame-colored  leaves  flashed 
in  the  air  as  the  wind  tossed  them  before  it ; 
the  deep,  continual  thunder  of  the  foaming 
falls  rose  soothingly  from  the  river  banks,  and 
a  wretched  human  thing  pressed  her  bloodless 
face  against  the  morocco  lining  of  the  coach, 

Id  stared  down,  mute  and  tearless,  into  the 
ic  grave  of  her  all — 

"Fresh  as  the  first  be.tm  glittering  on  a  sail, 
That  brings  our  friends  up  fri)ni  the  under  world; 
Sad  as  tlie  last  which  reddens  over  one 
That  ginks  with  all  wo  lovo  below  the  verge, 
So  gad,  80  fresh,  the  days  that  are  no  more." 


CHAPTER  VH. 

As  tall  tyrannous  weeds  and  i-ank  unshorn 
grass  close  over  and  crush  out  slender,  pure, 
odorous  flowerets  on  a  hill-side,  so  the  defects 
of  Irene's  character  swiftly  strengthened  and 
developed  in  the  new  atmosphere  in  which 
she  found  herself.  All  the  fostering  stimulus 
of  a  hot-bed  seemed  applied  to  them,  and  her 
nobler  impulses  were  in  imminent  danger  of 
being  entirely  subdued.  Diogenes  Tenfels- 
drtickh's  "  Crim  Tartary  Enclosure  of  a  High 
Seminary"  is  but  the  prototype  of  hundreds, 
scattered  up  and  down  through  Christendom ; 
and  the  associations  which  surrounded  Irene 
were  well  calculated  to  destroy  the  native 
purity  and  unselfishness  of  her  nature.  The 
»'hool  wns  on  an  extensive  scale,  thoroughly 
fashionable,  and  thither  pupils  were  sent  from 
every  section  of  the  United  States.  As  re- 
garded educational  advantages,  the  institution 
was  unexceptionable ;  the  professors  were  con- 


sidered unsurpassed  in  their  several  depart- 
ments, and  evpry  provision  was  made  for 
thorough  tuition.  But  what  a  Babel  reigned 
outside  of  the  recitation-room.  One  hundred 
and  forty  girls  to  spend  their  recesses  in  envy, 
ridicule,  malice,  and  detraction.  -The  homely 
squad  banded  in  implacable  hatred  against 
those  whom  nature  had  cast  in  moulds  of 
beauty ;  the  indolent  and  obtuse  ever  on  the 
alert  to  decry  the  successful  efforts  of  their 
superiors ;  the  simply-clad  childreh  of  parents 
in  straightened  circumstances  feeding  their 
discontent  by  gazing  with  undisguised  envy 
at  the  richly-apparalled  darlings  of  fortune ; 
and  the  favored  ones  sneering  at  tliese  unfor- 
tunates, pluming  themselves  on  wealth,  beauty, 
intellect,  as  the  case  might  be ;  growing  more 
arrogant  and  insufferable  day  by  daV.  A 
wretched  climate  this  for  a  fresli,  untainted 
soul;  and  it  is  surprising  how  really  fond 
parents,  anxious  to  promote  the  improvement 
of  their  daughters  in  every  respect,  hasten  to 
place  them  where  poisonous  vapors  wreathe 
and  curl  about  them.  The  principals  of  such 
institutions  are  doubtless  often  conscientious, 
and  strive  to  discharge  their  duty  faithfully ; 
but  the  evils  of  human  nature  are  obstinate, 
diflicult  to  subdue  under  even  the  most  favor- 
able auspices;  and  where  such  a  mass  of  un- 
trained souls  are  turned  into  an  enclosure,  to 
amuse  themselves  at  one  another's  expense, 
mischief  is  sure  to  follow.  Anxious  to  shake 
off  the  loneliness  which  so  heavily  oppressed 
her,  Irene  at  first  mingled  freely  among  her 
companions ;  but  she  soon  became  disgusted 
with  the  conduct  and  opinions  of  the  majority, 
and  endeavored  to  find  quiet  in  her  own  room. 
Maria  Ashley,  who  shared  the  apartment,  was 
the  spoiled  child  of  a  Louisiana  planter,  and 
her  views  of  life  and  duty  were  too  utterly 
antagonistic  to  Irene's  to  allojv  of  any  pleasure 
in  each  other\s  society.  To  cheat  the  profes- 
sors by  ingenious  stratagems,  and  to  out-dress 
her  companions,  seemecl  the  sum  total  of  the 
girl's  aspirations ;  and  gradually,  in  lieu  of  the 
indifference  she  evinced  toward  her  room- 
mate, a  positive  hatred  made  itself  apparent 
in  numberless  trifles.  Feeling  her  own  supe- 
riority, Irene  held  herself  more  and  more 
aloof;  her  self-complacency  grew  amazingly, 
the  graceful  figure  took  a  haughty,  unbending 
posture,  and  a  coldly  contemptuous  smile 
throned  itself  on  her  lip.  The  inevitable  con- 
sequence was,  that  she  became  a  target  for 
the  school.  Thus  the  months  crept  away,  her 
father  wrote  rarely,  and  !Miss  Margaret's  let- 
ters contained  no  allusion  to  the  family  that 
had  caused  her  banishment.  Finally  she 
wrote  to  Dr.  Arnold,  incjuiring  concerning 
Mrs.  Aubrey,  but  no  reply  reached  her.  Early 
in  winteira  new  pupil,  a  "day  scholar,"  joined 
her  class ;  she  resided  in  New  York,  and  very 
soon  a  strong  friendship  sprang  up  between 
them.  Louisa  Young  was  about  Irene's  age, 
very  pretty,  very  gentle,  and  winning  in  her 


MACARIA. 


•hildren  as 


parents  who  strove  to  rear  tln.-ir  cli 
Christian  i)arents  should.  Ix)uis.V!i 
menta  were  very  warm  anil  lastinjr,  and  ore 
long  she  insisted  that  her  friciul  should  visit 
Weary  of  the  s<'hool,  the  latter  gladlj- 


manners.     She  was  the  daui»htcr  of  an  aflluent  |  asked  you   whether  it   was  snowing  out  of 
merchant,  and  was  blessed  in  the  posscapion  oflj  doors." 

"  Which  is  certainly   the   fact ;    the  first 
(lakes  fell  as  I  reached  home." 

He  stepped  to  the  window  and  looked  out, 
saying  carelessly — 
hen  Weary  of  the  s<'hool,  the  latter  gladly  I  "  Go  to  your  friend,  and  when  you  are  at  a 
availed  herself  of  the  invitation,  and  one  Fri-  |  loss  for  conversation,  bring  her  to  my  study  to 
day  afternoon  she  aci'orapanied  Louisa  home.  I  see  tho.se  sketehos  of  Palmyra  and  Haalbee." 
The  man.sion  was  almost  j)alatial,  and  as  Irene  I  lie  passed  on  to  his  work,  and  she  to  the 
entered  the  splendidly-furnished  parlors  her  i  sitting  -  room.  Tiie  study  was  simply  thu 
own  Southern  home  rose  vividly  iK'fore  her.  library,  handsomely  fittcil  up  with  choice  old 
"  Mother,  this  is  Miss  Huntingdon."  I  books  in   richly-carved   rosewood  cases,  and 

Mrs.  Young  reii-ivfil  her  cordially,  and  a,s  I  antique  bust«  peering  down  from  the  tops  of 
she  held  the  gloveil  hand,  and  kindly  e.xiiress-  |  each.     Crimson  damask  curtains  swept  from 
'        '         "  "     the  ceiling  to  the  carpet,  and  a  luxurious  arm- 

chair sat  before  the  glowing  coal  fire.  The 
table  was  covered  with  books,  and  loose  sheets 
of  paper  were  scattered  around,  as  if  the  oc- 
cupant had  been  suddenly  called  from  his 
labor.  The  gas  burned  brightly;  all  things 
beckoned  back  to  work.  He  sat  down, 
glanced  over  the  lulf-written  sheets,  number- 
ed the  pages,  laid  them  away  in  the  drawer, 
and  opened  a  volume  of  St.  Chrysostom.  As 
the  light  fell  on  liis  countenance,  it  was  very 
ajiparent  that  he  had  been  a  student  for  years; 
that  his  mind  was  habituated  to  patient,  labor- 
ious investigation.  (Jravity,  uttt-rly  free  from 
keeps  bimV  There  he  is  now,  in  the  hall,"  I  sorrow  or  sternness,  marked  his  face;  he  might' 
answered  the  mother,  i  i  have  pa.ssed  all  his  days  in  that  (juiet  room, 

A  moment  after,  he  entered  and  took  his  I  for  any  impress  which  the  cares  or  joys  of  out- 
seat.  He  was  tall,  rather  handsome,  and  look-  \  door  life  had  leflon  his  features ;  a  strong,  clear 
ed  about  thirty.  His*  sister  presented  her  i  intellect,  a  lolly,  earnest  soul;  a  calm,  unruffled 
friend,  and  with  a  hasty  bow  he  fastened  his  i  heart,  that  knew  not  half  its  own  unsounded 
eves  on  her  fac*  Probably  he  was  u neon- '  abysses.  He  rea<l  industriously  for  some  time, 
ecious  of  the  steadiness  of  his  gaze,  but  Irene  |  occasionally  pausing  to  annotate;  and  once 
became  restless  under  his  fixed,  earnest  eye,  ,  or  twice  he  raised  his  head  and  listened,  fan- 


cd  her  pleasure  at  meeting  her  dat^iiter's 
friend,  the  girl's  heart  gave  a  quick  bound  of 
joy. 

"  Come  up  stairs  and  put  away  your  bon- 
net." 

In  Loui.'^a's  beaTiliful  room  the  two  sat  talk- 
ing of  various  things  till  the  tea -bell  rang. 
Mr.  Young's  greeting  was  scarcely  less  friendly 
than  his  wife's,  and  as  they  seated  themst-lves 
at  the  table,  the  stranger  felt  at  home  lor  the 
first  time  in  New  York. 

"  Where  is  brother  ?"  asked  Louisa,  glancing 
at  the  vacant  seat  opposite  her  own. 

"  He  has  not  come  home  yet ;  I  wonder  what 


and    perceiving     her     embarrassment,    Mrs. 
Y^oung  said — 

"  Harvey,  where  have  you  been  ?  Dr.  Mel- 
ville called  hare  for  you  at  four  o'clock  ;  said 
you  luui  made  some  engagement  with  him." 

•'  Yes,  mother ;  we  have  been  visiting  to- 
gether this  afternoon." 

Withdrawing  his  eyes,  he  seemed  to  fall 
into  a  reverie,  and  took  no  part  in  the  conver- 
sation that  ensued.  As  the  paijty  adjourned 
to  the  sitting-room,  he  pjiused  on  the  rug,  and 
leaned  his  elbow  on  the  mantle.  Louisa  lin- 
gered, and  drew  near 
aroun<l  her  shoulders,  and  looked  aft'ectionate- 
ly  down  at  her. 

"  Well,  what  is  it  V" 

•'  Come  into  the  sitting-room  and  help  me 
entertain  Irene,  instead  of  going  olF  to  your 
tupid  study;  do,  Harvey." 

"  A   very   reasonable    request,   truly  !      I 


eying  iootsteps  in  the  hall.  Finally  he  pushetl 
the  book  away,  took  a  turn  across  the  floor, 
and  resumed  his  seat.  He  could  not  rivet 
his  attention  on  St.  Chrysostom,  and  folding 
his  arms  over  his  chest,  he  studied  the  red 
coals  instead.  Soon  after,  unmistakable  steps 
fell  on  his  ear,  and  a  light  tap  at  the  door  was 
followed  by  the  entrance  of  the  two  girls. 
Irene  came  very  reluctantly,  fearful  of  intru<l- 
ing  ;  but  he  rose,  and  placed  acliair  for  her 
^(•lose  to  his  own,as.suring  her  that  he  was  glad 
to  see  her  there.  Louisa  found  the  portfolio. 
He  j)as8ed  his  arm  I  and,  bringing  it  to  the  table,  begcan  to  exhibit 
its  treasures.  The  two  leaned  over  it,  and  as 
Irene  sat  resting  her  cheek  on  her  hand,  the 
beauty  of  her  face  and  figure  wa.s  clearly  re- 
vealed. Harvey  remaine<l  silent,  watching 
the  changing  expression  of  the  visitor's  coun- 
tenance ;  and  once  he  put  out  his  hand  to 
touch  the  hair  floating  over  the  bai-k  and 
must  quit  my  work  to  talk*  to  one  of  your!  arms  of  her  chair,  (iradually  his  still  heart 
schoolmates ;  nonsense !     How  old  is  she  y"      '■  stirred,  his  brow   flushed,  and   a   new   liiiht 


"  Fifteen.    Is  not  she  a  beauty?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Oh,  Harrey !  you  arc  so  cold  !  I  thought 
you  would  admire  Irene  prodigiously ;  and 
now  you  say  'yes'  just  exactly  as  il'  I  Lad 


burned  in  the  decp<'lear  eyes. 

"  Louisa,  where  did  you  get  these  ?" 
"  Brother   brought    them    home   when 

came  from  the  East." 
Irene  lifted  her  eyes  to  his  and  said : 


MACARIA. 


87 


"  Did  you  visit  all  these  ])laccs  ?  Did  you 
J  go  to  that  orumbling  Temple^ of  the  Sun?" 
I  He  told  her  of  his  visit  to  the  old  wor  Id,  of 
its  mournful  ruins,  its  decaying  glories  ;  of  the 
lessons  he  learned  there ;  the  sad,  but  precious 
memories  lie  brought  back,  and  as  he  talked 
time  passed  unheeded — she  forgot  her  embar- 
rassment, they  were  strangers  no  longer.  The 
clock  struck  ten ;  Louisa  rose  at  once. 

"  Thank  you,  Harvey,  for  giving  us  so  much 
of  your  time.  Father  and  mother  will  be 
waiting  for  you." 

"  Yes,  I  will  join  you  at  once." 

She  led  the  way  back  to  the  sitting-room, 
and  a  few  moments  afterward,  to  Irene's  great 
surprise,  the  student  came  in,  and  sitting 
down  before  the  table,  opened  the  Bible  and 
read  a  chapter.  Then  all  knelt  and  he  prayed. 
There  was  a  strange  spell  on  the  visitor;  in 
all  this  there  was  something  so  unexpected. 
It  was  the  first  time  she  had  ever  knelt  around 
the  family  altar,  and,  as  she  rose,  that  sit- 
ting-room seemed  suddenly  converted  into  a 
temple  of  worship.  Mutual  "good -nights" 
were  exchanged,  and  as  Irene  turned  toward 
the  young  minister,  he  held  out  his  hand.  She 
gave  him  hers,  and  he  pressed  it  gently,  say- 
ing: 

"  I  trust  this  is  the  first  of  many  pleasant 
evenings  which  we  shall  spend  together." 

'"  Thank  you,  sir.  I  hope  so  too,  for  I  have 
not  been  as  happy  since  I  left  home." 

He  smiled,  and  she  wmlked  on.  His  moiher 
looked  up  as  the  door  closed  behind  her^  and 
exclaimed : 

"What  a  wonderfully  beautiful  face  she 
has !  Louisa  often  rhapsodized  about  her, 
and  now  -I  am  not  at  all  surprised  at  her 
enthusiasm." 

"  Yes,  such  perfection  of  features  as  hers  is 
seen  but  once  in  a  lifetime.  I  have  travelled 
over  the  greater  part  of  the  world;  I  have 
looked  upon  all  types  of  beauty,  from  the 
Andalusians,  whom  Murillo  immortalized,  to 
the  far-famed  Circassians  of  Habarda,  but 
never  before  have  I  found  such  a  marvel  of 
loveliness  as  that  girl.  In  Venice  I  spent  a 
morning  studying  one  of  Titian's  faces,  which 
somewhat  resembles  hers ;  there  is  au  approx- 
imation to  the  same  golden  hair — forming  a 
nimbus,  as  it  were — tiie  same  contour  of  fea- 
tures, but  Titian's  picture  lacked  her  pure, 
unsearchable,  indescribable  eyes.  Have  you 
notic<Hl  what  a  rare,  anomalous  color  her  hair 
is  ?  There  never  was  but  one  other  head 
like  it;  the  threads  of  fine  gold  in  that  cele- 
'  brated  lock  of  her  own  hair,  which  Lucretia 
Borgia  gave  Cardinal  Bombo,  match  Irene 
Huntingdon's  exactly.  Well  and  truly  has  it 
been  said  of  that  glittering  relic  in  the  Am- 
brozian  library,  '  If  ever  hair  was  golden,  it  is 
this  of  LucretiatBorgia's ;  it  is  not  red,  it  is 
not  yellow,  it  is  not  auburn ;  it  is  golden,  and 
nothing  else.'  I  examined  it  curiously,  and 
wondered  whether   the  world  could  furnish 


a  parallel ;  consequently,  wJien  that  girl's  head 
flashed  before  me,  I  was  startled.  Stranger 
still  than  her  beauty  is  the  fact  that  it  has  not 
spoiled  her  thus  far." 

lie  folded  his  ai-ms  over  his  chest  as  if 
crushing  out  something. 

His  mother  laughed. 

"  Why,  Harvey  I  What  a  riddle  you  are. 
Take  care,  my  son ;  that  child  would  never  do 
for  a  minister's  wife." 

"  Of  course  not;' who  ever  dreamed  that 
she  would  ?  Good-night,  mother;  I  shall  not 
be  at  home  to  breakfast ;  do  not  wait  for  me,  I 
ffm  going  to  Long  Island  Avith  Dr.  Melville." 
He  bent  down  to  receive  her  customary  kiss, 
and  went  to  his  own  room. 

"  Louisa,  how  came  your  brother  to  be 
a  minister  V"  asked  Irene,  when  they  had 
reached  their  apartment. 

"  When  he  was  a  boy  he  said  he  intended 
to  preach,  and  father  never  dissuaded  him.  I 
was  quite  young  when  he  went  to  the  East, 
and  since  his  return  he  has  been  so  engrossed 
by  his  theological  studies  that  we  arc  rarely 
together.  HarA-cy  is  a  singular  man — so  silent, 
so  equable,  so  cold  in  his  manner,  and  yet  he 
has  a  warm  heart.  He  has  declined  two  calls 
since  his  ordination  ;  Dr.  Melville's  health  is 
very  poor,  and  Harvey  frequently  fills  his 
'pulpit.  Sometimes  he  talks  of  going  West, 
where  ministers  are  scarce;  thinks  he  could  do 
more  good  there,  but  mother  will  not  consent 
for  him  to  leave  us.  I  am  afraid,  though,  he 
will  go — he  is  so  determined  when  he  once 
makes  up  his  mind.  He  is  a  dear,  good 
brother ;  I  know  you  will  like  him  when  you 
know  him  well ;  everybody  loves  Harvey." 

The  inclemency  of  the  weather  confined 
the  girls  to  the  house  the  following  day.  Har-  « 
vey  was  absent  at  breakfast,  and  at  dinner  the 
chair  opposite  Irene's  was  still  vacant.  The 
afternoon  wore  away,  and  at  dusk  Louisa 
opened  the  piano  and  began  to  play  Thal- 
berg's  "  Home,  Sweet  Home."  Irene  sat  on 
a  sofa  near  the  window,  and  as  she  listened, 
visions  of  the  South  rose  before  her,  till  she 
realized — 

"That  a  sorrow's  crown  of  sorrow  is  romomberlng  happlAr 
tilings." 

She  longed  inexpressibly  for  her  own  home, 
for  her  father,  for  the  suffering  friends  of  the 
cottage,  and,  as  she  thought  of  his  many  trials, 
Russell's  image  was  more  distinct  than  all. 
She  closed  her  eyes,  and  felt  again  his  tight 
clasp  of  her  hands ;  his  passionate,  pleading 
words" sounded  once  more:  "Oh,  Irene!  be- 
lieve in  me !  believe  in  me  always ! "  It  1^ 
seemed  to  her  so  unnatural,  so  cruel  that  they 
should  be  separated.  Then  came  the  memory 
of  Mrs.  Auiirey's  words  of  counsel:  "Pi-hn' 
constantly ;  keep  yourself  unspotted  from  l.ic 
world."  What  would  the  blind  woman  think 
if  she  knew  all  the  proud,  scornful,  harsh  feel- 
ings which  were  now  in  her  heart  "r"     A  seasa- 


3$ 


MACARIA. 


tion  of  deep  contrition  and  humiliation  came  ' 
upon  her;  she  knew  she  was  fast  losinc  the 
best  imi)ulsc8  of  her  nature,  and  experienced  , 
keen  regnt  that  she  had  yielded  to  the  evil 
associations   and    temptations   of  the   school.  | 
How  could  she  hope  to  prow  better  under  such  ; 
einumstanees  ?     What  would  become  of  her  V  [ 
The  snow  drift<>d  ajrainst  the  panes,  making 
fairy    fretwork,   and    ihmugh    the    feathery  | 
flakes  the  paslipht  at  the  corner  burned  stea«l- 
ily  on.     "  So  ought  the  lipht  of  conscience  to 
burn,"  thought  ihc ;    "so  oupht  I  to  do  my 
duty,   no  matter  how  I  am  situated.      That 
light  is  all  the  more  necessary  because  it  is 
stormy  and  dark." 

Somebody  took  a  scat  near  her,  and  though 
the  room  was  dim  she  knew  the  tall  form  and 
the  touch  of  Lis  hand. 

"Good-evening,  Miss  Irene;  we  have  had 
a  gloomy  day.  How  have  you  and  Louisa 
spent  it  V" 

"Not  very  i)rofitably  I  daresay,  though  it 
has  not  appeared  at  all  gloomy  to  me.  Ilavc 
you  been  out  in  the  snow  ?" 

"  Yes ;  my  work  has  been  sad.  I  burleil  a 
mother  and  child  this  afternoon,  and  have  just 
come  from  a  home  of  orphanage  and  grief 
It  is  a  dilficult  matter  to  realize  how  man} 
aching  hearts  there  are  in  this  great  city. 
Our  mahogany  doors  shut  out  the  wail  that 
hourly  goes  up  to  God  from  the  thousand  suf- 
ferers in  our  midst.'' 

Just  then  a  servant  lighted  the  chandelier, 
and  she  saw  th^t  he  looked  graver  than  evci-. 
i^ouisa  came  up  and  put  her  arm  around  his 
neck,  but  he  did  not  return  the  caress;  saiil  a 
few  kind  words,  and  rising,  slowly  paced  tlic 
floor.  As  his  eye  fell  on  tlie  pi^no  lie  paused, 
saying,  "  Come,  Louisa,  sing  th»t  song  for  me." 

She  sat  down,  and  began  "  Comfort  ye  my 
people ;"  and  gradually  the  sadness  melted 
from  his  features.  As  Irene  listened  to  the 
solenm  strains  she  (bund  it  dilficult  to  control 
her  feelings,  and  l)y  degrees  her  head  sank 
until  it  touched  tlu;  arm  of  the  sofa.  The 
minister  watched  the  eflect  of  the  music,  and, 
resuming  his  seat,  said  gently — 

"It  is  genuine  jihilosophy  to  extract  <*om- 
fort  and  aid  front  every  possible  source.  There 
is  a  vast  amount  of  strength  needed  to  combat 
the  evils  and  trials  which  necessarily  occur  in 
even  the  sunniest,  happiest  lives ;  and  I  find 
that  sometimes  I  derive  far  more  from  a  song 
than  a  lengthy  sermon.  We  are  curioui  bits 
of  mechanism,  and  frecjuently  mu.sic  efl^ects 
what  learned  disputation  or  earnest  exhorta- 
H  tion  could  not  taccornplish.  I  remember  once, 
when  I  was  a  child,  I  had  given  my  mother  a 
great  deal  of  trouble  by  my  obstinacy.  She 
had  entreated  me,  reasoned  with  me,  and 
finally  nuni.shed  me,  but  all  to  no  i»urpo.se ;  ; 
my  wickedness  had  not  been  concpiered.  I 
was  bitter  and  rebellious,  anil  continued  so  all  | 
day.  That  evening  she  sat  down  to  the  piano  i 
and  sang  a  hymn  for  ny  father.     The  instaat  I 


the  strains  fell  on  my  car  I  felt  softened,  crept 
down  stairs  to  the  parlor-<ioor.  and  before  she 
ha<l  finished  was  crj-ing  heartily,  begging  her 
forgiveness.  When  a  sublime  air  is  made  the 
vehicle  of  a  noble  sentiment  there  is  no  com- 
puting the  amount  of  goo«l  it  accomplishes,  if 
]>roperly  directed.  During  uiy  visit  to  Lon- 
don, I  went  to  hear  a  very  celebrated  divine. 
I  had  just  lo«t  a  dear  friend,  the  companion 
who  travelled  with  me  to  Jerusalem  and  Me- 
roe,  and  I  went  to  church  full  of  sorrow.  The 
sermon  was  able,  but  h.ail  no  more  effect  in 
comforting  me  than  if  I  ha<l  not  listened  to 
it.  lie  preached  from  that  text  of  Job  treat- 
ing of  the  resurrection,  and  at  the  conclusion 
the  very  words  of  his  text,  '  I  know  that  my 
Redeemer  liveth,'  were  sung  by  the  choir. 
When  the  organ  rolled  its  solemn  tones  under 
the  dim  arched  roof,  and  I  heanl  the  voices  of 
the  choir  swelling  deep  and  full — 

'Throb  tliro\i(;h  tho  ribliiHl  Htono,' 

then,  and  not  till  then,  I  appreciated  tho 
grand  words  to  which  I  had  listened.  The 
organ  spoke  to  my  soul  as  man  could  not,  and 
I  left  the  chiinh  calmed  and  comforted.  All 
things  are  capable  of  yielding  benefit,  if  prop- 
erly api)lied,  though  it  is  a  lameiUable  truth 
that  gross  abuse  has  involved  many  possible 
sources  of  good  in  disrepute;  and  it  is  our 
duty  to  extract  elevating  influences  from  all 
<lepartments.  Such  an  alchemy  is  especially 
the  privilege  of  a  Christian." 

As  he  talked  she  lifted  her  beautiful  eyes 
and  looked  steadily  at  him,  and  he  thought 
that,  of  all  the  lovely  things  he  had  ever  seen, 
that  face  was  the  most  pet'rless.  She  drew 
closer  to  him,  and  said  earnestly : 

"  Then  you  ought  to  be  haypy,  Mr.  Young." 

"  That  implies  a  doubt  that  1  am." 

"  You  do  not  seem  to  nic  a  very  happy 
man." 

"  There  you  mistake  me.  I  presume  there 
are  few  happii'r  persons." 

"  Countenance  is  not  a  faithful  index,  then; 
you  look  so  exceedingly  grave." 

"  Do  you  Suppose  that  gravity  of  face  is  in- 
compatible with  sunshine  in  the  heart?" 

"  I  think  it  reasonable  that  the  sunshine 
should  sparkle  in  the  eyes  and  gleam  over  the 
features.  But,  sir,  I  should  like,  if  you  please, 
to  talk  to  you  a  little  about  other  things.  May 
IV" 

"  Certainly  ;Npeak  on,  and  speak  freely; 
you  may  trust  me,  I  think." 

He  smiled  encouragingly  as  he  spoke,  and 
without  a  moment's  thought  she  laid  her  deli- 
cate hand  in  his. 

"  Mr.  Young,  I  want  somebody  to  advise 
me.  Very  oft(!n  I  am  at  a  loss  about  my  duty, 
and,  having  no  one  to  consuls  eUher  do  noth- 
ing at  all  or  that  which  I  sffould  not.  If  it 
will  not  trouble  you  too  much,  I  shonlii  like  to 
bring  my  ditricultics  to  you  sometimes,  and 
get  you  to  direct  me.     If  you  will  only  talk 


MACARIA, 


89 


frankly  to  me,  as  you  do  to  Louisa,  oh !  I  will 
be  very  grateful." 

He  folded  his  hands  softly  over  the  white, 
fluttering  fingers. 

"  Louisa  is  my  sister,  and  therefore  I  do  not 
hesitate  to  tell  her  unwelcome  truths.  But 
you  happen  to  be  a  perfect  stranger,  and 
might  not  relish  my  counsel." 

"  Try  me." 

"  How  old  are  you  ?  Pardon  my  inquisi- 
tiveness." 

"  Fifteen." 

"An  age  when  young  ladies  prefer  flattery 
to  truth.     Have  you  no  brother  ?" 

"  I  am  an  only  child." 

"  You  would  like  a  brother,  however  V" 

"  Yes,  sir,  above  all  things." 

*'  Take  care ;  you  express  yourself  strongly. 
If  you  can  fancj'  me  for  a  brother,  consider  me 
such.  One  thing  I  can  promise,  you  will 
have  a  guardian  sleepless  as  Ladon,  and  un- 
tiring in  his  efforts  to  aid  you  as  if  he  were 
in  truth  a  Briareus.  If  you  are  not  afraid  of 
espionage,  make  me  3'our  brother.  What  say 
you  ?" 

"  I  am  not  afraid,  sir ;  I  believe  I  need 
watching." 

"  Ah,  that  you  do !"  he  exclaimed  with  un- 
usual emphasis. 

"  He  can  be  very  stern,  Irene,  gentle  as  he 
looks,"  suggested  Louisa. 

"  If  he  never  found  fault  with  me  I  should 
not  need  his  friendship. 

When  Monday  morning  came,  and  she  was 
obliged  to  return  to  schopl,  Irene  reluctantly 
bade  farewell  to  the  new  friends.  She  knew 
that,  in  conformity  to  the  unalterable  regula- 
tion of  Crim  Tartary,  she'Could  only  leave  the 
institution  once  a  mouthy  and  the  prospect  of 
this  long  interval  between  her  visits  was  by 
no  means  cheering.  Harvey  assisted  her  into 
the  carriage. 

"  I  shall  send  you  some  books  in  a  day  or 
two,  and  if  you  are  troubled  about  an)'thing 
before  I  sec  you  again,  write  me  a  note  by 
Louisa.  I  would  call  to  see  you  occasionally 
if  you  were  boarding  anywhere  else.  Good- 
morning,  Miss  Irene;  do  not  forget  that  I  am 
your  brother  so  long  as  you  stay  iq  New  York, 
or  need  one." 

The  books  were  not  forgotten;  they  arrived 
the  ensuing  week,  and  his  selection  satisfied  her 
that  he  perfectly  understood  what  kind  of  aid 
she  required.  Her  visit  made  a  lasting  im- 
pression on  her  mind,  and  the  Sabbath  spent 
in  Loui.sa"s  home  often  recurred  to  her  in  after 
years,  as  the  memory  of  some  green,  sunny 
isle  of  rest  haunts  the  dreams  of  weary,  tem- 
pest-lashed mariners  in  a  roaring  sea.  Maria 
Ashley  was  a  sore  trial  of  patience,  and  occa- 
sionally, aft<>r  a  fruitless  struggle  to  rise  above 
the  temptations  presented  almost  hourly,  Irene 
looked  longingly  toward  Louisa's  fireside  as 
one  turns  to  the  last  source  of  support.  Fi- 
nally she  took  r«fug«  in  iil«nce,  and,  except 


when  compelled  to  do  so,  rarely  commented 
upon  anything  that  occurred.  The  days  were 
always  busy,  and  when  the  text-books  were 
finished,  she  had  recourse  to  those  supplied 
by  her  new  friends.  At  the  close  of  the  next 
month,  instead  of  accompanying  Louisa  home, 
Irene  was  suffering  with  severe  cold,  and  too 
much  indisposed  to  quit  the  house.  This  was 
a  grievous  disappointment,  but  she  bore  it 
bravely  and  went  on  with  her  studies.  What 
a  di-eary  isolation  in  the  midst  of  numbers  of 
her  own  age.  It  was  a  thraldom  that  galled 
her;  and  more  than  once  the  implored  her 
father's  permission  to  return  home.  His  re- 
plies were  positive  denials,  and  after  a  time 
she  ceased  to  expect  release,  until  the  pre- 
scribed course  should  be  ended.  Thus  an- 
other month  dragged  itself  away.  On  Friday 
morning  Louisa  was  absent.  Irene  felt  anx- 
ious and  distressed ;  perhaps  she  was  ill,  some- 
thing must  have  happened.  As  the  day-pupils 
were  dismissed  she  started  back  to  her  own 
room,  heart-sick  because  of  this  second  disap- 
pointment. "  After  all,"  thought  she,  "  I  may 
as  well  Accustom  myself  to  being  alone.  Of 
course,  I  can't  have  the  Youngs  always.  I 
must  learn  to  depend  on  myself"  She  put 
away  the  bonnet  and  cloak  laid  out  in  readi- 
ness for  departiire,  and  sat  down  to  write  to 
her  aunt  Margaret.  A  few  minutes  after,  a 
servant  knocked  at  the  door  and  informed  her 
that  a  gentleman  wished  to  see  her  in  the 
parlor. 


CHAPTER  Vm. 

"I  am  so  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Young. 
Louisa  is  not  sick,  I  hope  ?" 

"I  came  for  you  in  Louisa's  place;  she  is 
not  well  enough  to  quit  her  room.  Did  you 
suppose  that  I  intended  leaving  you  hero  for 
another  month  ?" 

"  I  was  rather  afraid  you  had  forgotten  me; 
the  prospect  was  gloomy  ten  minutes  ago.  It 
seems  a  long  time  since  I  was  with  you." 

She  stood  close  to  him,  looking  gladly  into 
his  face,  unconscious  of  the  effect  of  her  words. 

"  You  sent  me  no  note  all  this  time ;  why 
not  ?" 

"I  was  afraid  of  troubling  you;  and,  be- 
sides, I  would  rather  tell  you  what  I  want  you 
to  know." 

"  Miss  Irene,  the  carriage  is  at  the  door.  I 
am  a  patient  man,  and  can  wait  half  an  hour 
if  you  have  any  preparation  to  make." 

In  much  less  time  she  joined  him,  equipped 
for  the  ride,  and  took  her  place  beside  him  ia 
the  carriage.  As  they  reached  his  father's 
door,  and  he  assisted  her  out,  she  saw  him 
look  at  her  very  searchingly. 

"  It  is  time  that  you  had  a  litlla  fresh  air. 
You  are  not  quite  yourself.  Louisa  is  in  her 
room  ;  run  up  to  her." 

She  founil  bar  friend  luffering  with  soro 


40 


MACARIA. 


throat,  and  -was  startled  at  the  appearance  of 
her  Hushed  cheeks.  Mrs.  Youn^r  gat  beside 
her,  and  after  most  cordial  trrretings  the  lat-  ' 
ter  resigned  her  seat  and  left  theiu,  enjoininji 
u])on  her  daughter  the  necessity  oY  remaining 
(juiet.  I 

"  Mother  was  almost  afrjud  for  j'ou  to  come,  | 
but  I  tea/ed  and  coaxed  for  permission  ;  told 
her  that  even  if  I  had  scarlet  fever  you  had  1 
already  had  it,  and  would  run  no  risk.  Har-  j 
vey  says  it  is  not  scarlet  fever  at  all.  and  he  ' 
persuaided  mother  to  let  him  go  after  you.  j 
He  alwaws  has  things  his  own  way,  though  he  t 
brings  it  about  so  (juietly  tiiat  nobody  would  • 
ever  suspect  him  ol'  being  self-willed.  Har-  | 
vey  is  a  good  friend  of  yours,  Irene."  | 

"I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it;  he  is  certainly 
very  kind  to  me.     But  recollect,  you  are  not  ' 
to  talk  much  ;  let  me  talk  to  you."  j 

Mrs.  Young  sent  up  tea  for  both,  and  about  | 
nine  o'clock  Mr.  Young  and  his  son  both  en- 
tere<l.  Louisa  had  fallen  a.^leej)  holding  Irene's 
hand,  and  her  father  cautiously  felt  the  pulse  ' 
and   examined  the  countenance.     The  fever  ' 
had  abated,  and,  bending  down,  Harvey  said 
softly :  I 

"  Can't  you  release  your  hand  without 
waking  her  V" 

".I  am  afraid  not ;  have  prayer  without  me 
to-night.".  I 

After  the  gentlemen  withdrew,  Mrs.  Young 
and  Irene  watched  the  sleeper  till  midnight, 
Avhen  she  awoke.  The  following  morning 
found  her  much  better,  and  Irene  and  the 
mother  spent  the  day  in  her  room.  La(e  in 
the  afternoon  the  minister  came  in  and  talked 
to  his  sister  for  .some  moments,  then  turned  to 
hi.-^  mother. 

"Mother,  I  am  going  to  take  this  visitor  of 
yours  down  to  the  library ;  Louisa  lias  mo- 
nopolized her  long  enough.  Come,  Miss  Irene, 
you  shall  join  them  again  at  tea." 

He.  led  the  way,  and  she  followed  him  very 
willingly.  Placing  her  in  a  chair  before  the 
fire,  h(*  drew  another  to  the  rug ;  and,  seating 
himself,  said  just  as  if  speaking  to  Louisa  : 

"  What  liave  you  beijn  doing  these  two 
months?  What  is  it  that  clouds  your  face, 
my  little  sister?" 

"  Ah,  sir !  I  am  so  weary  of  that  school. 
Yon  don't  know  what  a  relief  it  is  to  come 
here." 

"  It  is  rather  natural  that  you  should  feel 
liomefiick.  It  is  a  fierce  orde;ll  for  a  child 
like  you  to  be  thrust  so  far  from  home." 

"  I  am  not  homesick  iio\m,  I  believe.  I  have 
in  some,  degree  become  accustomed  to  the 
separation  from  my  father;  b.it  I  am  growing 
so  ditleient  from  what  I  used  to  be  ;  so  dilfer- 
ent  from  what  I  expected.  It  grieves  me  to 
know  that  1  am  changing  for  the  worse;  but, 
somehow,  I  can't  hclj)  it.  I  make  good  reso- 
lutions in  the  morning  before  I  leave  my 
room,  ami  by  noon  I  manage  to  break  all  of 
them.     Th«*  girls  try  me,  and  I  lose  my  pa- 


tience. When  I  am  at  home  nothing  of  this 
kind  troubles  me.  I  know  you  will  think  me 
very  weak,  and  I  cfere  say  I  am ;  still  I  trj' 
much  harder  than  you  think  I  do." 

"  If  you  never  yielded  to  temptation  you 
would  be  more  than  mortal.  We  are  all 
prone  to  err ;  and.  Miss  Irene,  <lid  it  never 
occur  to  you  that,  though  you  may  be  over- 
come by  the  evil  prompting,  yet  the  struggle 
to  resist  strengthened  you  ?  So  long  as  life 
lasts  this  conflict  Avill  be  waged  ;  though  you 
have  not  always  succeeded  thus  far,  earnest 
prayer  and  faithful  resolve  will  enable  you 
to  con<[uer.  Look  to  a  merciful  and  watchful 
(lod  for  assistance  ;  '  ilivine  knowledge  took 
the  measure  of  every  human  necessity,  and 
divine  love  and  power  gathered  into  salvation 
a  more  than  adecpiate  provision.'  Louisa  has 
told  me  the  nature  of  the  trials  that  beset 
you,  and  that  you  still  strive  to  rise  superior 
to  tlicm  ought  to  encourage  you.  '1,'he  books 
which  I  .sent  were  calculated  to  aid  you  in 
your  efforts  to  be  gentle,  forgiving,  and  char- 
itable under  adverse  circumstances.  I  use 
the  word  charity  in  its  broad,  deep,  true  sig- 
nificance. Of  all  charities  mere  money-giv- 
ing is  the  least;  sympathy,  kind  words,  gentle 
'judgments,  a  friendly  pressure  of  weary  hands, 
an  encouraging  smile,  will  frecjucntly  out- 
weigh a  mint  of  coins.  Bear  thiii  in  mind, 
selfishness  is  the  real  root  of  all  the  evil  in 
the  world;  people  are  too  isolated,  too  much 
wrapped  up  in  their  individual  rights,  inter- 
ests, or  enjoyments.  I,  Me,  Inline,  is  the  God 
of  the  age.  There  are  many  noble  excep- 
tions ;  philanthropic  associations  abound  in 
our  cities,  and  individual  instances  of  gener- 
ous self-denial  now  and  then  Hash  out  upon 
us.  But  we  ought  to  live  more  for  others 
than  we  do.  Instead  of  the  narrow  limits 
which  restrict  so  man^",  the  whole  family  of 
tlie  human  race  should  possess  our  cordial 
sympathy.  lu  proportion  as  wc  interest  our- 
selves in  promoting  the  good  and  happiness 
of  others  our  natures  become  elevated,  en- 
larged ;  our  capacities  for  enjoyment  are  de- 
vi'loped  and  increased.  The  happiest  man  I 
ever  knew  was  a  missionary  in  Syria.  He 
had  abandoned  home,  fiienils,  and  country; 
but,  in  laboring  for  the  weal  of  strangers, 
enjoyed  a  peace,  a  serenity,  a  deep  gladness, 
such  as  not  the  wealth  of  the  Rotlisrhilds 
could  purchase.  Do  not  misapprehend  me. 
All  can  not  be  missionaries  in  the  ordinary 
acceptation  of  that  term.  I  believe  that  very 
few  arc  really  called  to  spend  their  lives 
under  inclement  skies,  in  dreary  by-cornerg 
of  the  (>arth,  amid  hostile  tribes.  But  true 
missionary  work  lies  at  every  man's  door,  at 
every  woman's  ;  and,  my  little  sister,  yours 
waits  for  you,  staring  at  you  daily.  ^  Uo  the 
work  that  lies  nearest  to  thef.'  Let  me  give 
you  the.  rule  of  a  j)rofbund  thinker,  wiio  might 
have  accomplished  incalculable  good  had  he 
I  walked  the  narrow,  winding  path  which  he 


MACARIA. 


41 


stood  afar  off  and  pointed  out  to  others ; 
'  know  what  thou  canst  work  at,  and  work  at 
it  like  a  Hercules ;'  and,  amid  the  holj'-  hills 
of  Jerusalem,  the  voice  of  Iiis])iration  pro- 
claimed :  '  AVhatsoever  thy  hand  fiudeth  to  do, 
do  it  with  thy  might.' " 

His  low  voice  fell  soothingly  oji  her  ear; 
new  energy  kindled,  new  strength  was  in- 
fused, as  she  listened,  and  she  said  Imstily: 

"  It  would  be  an  easy  matter  to  do  all  this, 
if  I  had  somebody  like  you  always  near  to  di- 
rect me." 

"  Then  there  would  be  no  glory  in  conquer- 
ing. Every  soul  lias  trials  which  must  be 
borne  without  any  assistance,  save  that  which 
the  Father  mercifully  bestows.  Remember 
the  sublime  words  of.  Isaiah  :  '  I  have  trodden 
the  wine-press  alone ;  and  of  the  people  there 
was  none  with  me.  And  I  looked,  and  there 
was  none  to  help,  and  I  wondered  that  there 
was  none  to  uphold ;  therefore  mine  own  ami 
brought  salvation  unto  me.'  Miss  Irene,  you, 
too,  must  '  tread  (he  loine-press  alone.'" 

She  held  her  breath  and  looked  up  at  him; 
the  solemn  emphasis  of  his  words  startled  her; 
they  fell  upon  her  weighty  as  prophecy,  adum- 
brating weary  years  of  ceaseless  struggling. 
The  firelight  glowed  on  her  sculptured  fea- 
tures, and  lie  saw  an  expression  of  vague 
dread  in  her  glance. 

"  Miss  Irene,  yours  is  not  a  clinging,  de- 
pendent disposition  ;  if  I  have  rightly  UHder- 
stood  your  character,  you  have  never  been 
accustomed  to  lean  upon  otiiers.  After  rely- 
ing on  yourself  so  long,  why  yield  to  mistrust 
now  ?  With  years  slioidd  grow  the  poAver, 
the  determination,  to  do  the  work  you  find 
laid  out  for  you." 

"It  is  precisely  because  I  know  how  very 
poorly  I  have  managed  myself  thus  far  that  I 
have  no  confidence  in  my  own  powers  for  fu- 
ture emergencies.  Eitlier  I  have  lived  alone 
too  long,  or  else  not  long  enough ;  I  rather 
think  the  last.  If  tliey  had  only  suffered  me 
to  act  as  I  wished,  I  should  have  been  so  much 
better  at  home.  Oh,  sir !  I  am  not  the  girl  I 
^  was  eight  months  ago.  I  knew  how  it  would 
be  when  they,  sent  nic  here." 

Resting  her  chin  in  her  hands,  slxe  gazed 
sadly  into  the  grate,  and  saw,  amid  glowing 
coals,  the  walls  of  the  vine-clad  cottage,  the 
gentle  face  of  the  blind  woman  groping  her 
way,  the  melancholy  eyes  of  one  inexpressibly 
deat-  to  her.    . 

"  We  can  not  always  live  secluded,  and 
at  some  period  of  your  life  you  would  have 
been  forced  to  enter  the  world  and  com- 
bat its  troubles,  even  had  you  never  seen 
New  York.  It  is  comparatively  easy  for  an- 
chorites to  preserve  a  passionless,  equable 
temperament ;  but  to  ignore  the  very  circum- 
stances and  relations  of  social  existence  in 
which  God  intended  that  we  should  be  puri- 
fied and  innobled  by  trial  is  both  sinful  aad 
cowardlv." 


Taking  a  small  volume  from  the  table,  he 
read  impressively : 

'•■\yiiat  aro  we  set  on  cmth  for?    Say  to  toil; 
Nor  spclc  to  loavo  tli.v  tetuliiis  of  the  vines, 
For  aU  tlm  keat  o'  tlic  day.  till  it  declines, 
And  death's  mild  curfew  shall  from  work  assoil. 
(iod  did  anoint  theo  with  his  odorous  oil, 

To  wrestle,  not  to  reign so  others  shall 

Take  patience,  labor',  to  their  heart  and  hand, 
I'roni  thy  hand,  and  thy  heart,  and  thy  hrave  cheor, 
And  Oud's  grace  frnclify  through  thee  to  all." 

"  Some  portentous  cloud  seems  lowering 
over  your  future.  What  is  it?  You  ought 
to  be  a  gleeful  girl,  full  of  happy  hopes." 

She  sank  farther  back  in  her  chair  to  es- 
cape his  searching  gaze,  and  drooped  her  face 
lower. 

"  Yes,  yes ;  I  know  I  ought,  but  one  can't 
always  slnit  their  eyes." 

"  Shut  their  eyes  to  what  ?" 

"Various  coming  troubles,  Mr.  Young." 

His  lip  curled  slightly,  and,  replacing  the 
book  on  the  table,  he  said,  as  if  speaking 
rather  to  himself  than  to  her: 

"  Tiic  heart  knoweth  his  own  bitterness, 
and  a  stranger  doth  not  intermeddle  with  his 

"  You  are  not  a  stranger,  sir." 

"  I  see  you  are  disposed  to  consider  me  such. 
I  thought  I  was  your  brother.  But  no  mat- 
ter; after  a  time  all  will  be  well." 

She  looked  puzzled ;  and,  as  the  tea-bell 
summoned  them,  he  merely  added  : 

"I  do  not  wonder.  You  are  a  shy  child; 
but  you  will  soon  learn  to  understand  me;- you 
will  come  to  me  with  all  your  sorrows." 

During  the  remainder  of  this  visit  she  saw 
him  no  more.  Louisa  recovered  rapidly,  and 
when  she  asked  for  her  brother  on  Sabbath 
evening,  Mrs.  Y'oun^  said  he  was  to  preach 
twice  that  day.  INfonday  morning  arrived, 
and  Irene  returned  to  school  with  a  heavy 
heart,  fearing  that  sh.e  had  wounded  kim ;  but 
a  i'evf  (lays  after,  Louisa  brought  her  a  book 
and  brief  note  of  kind  words.  About  this 
time  slie  noticed  in  her  letters  from  home  allu- 
sions to  her  own  future  lot,  which  increased 
her  uneasiness.  It  was  very  palpable  that  her 
father  expected  her  to  accede  to  his  wishes 
regarding  a  union  with  her  cousin;  and  she 
knew  only  too  well  how  fierce  was  the  con- 
test before  her.  Hugh  wrote  kindly,  affec- 
tionately; and  if  she  could  have  divested  her 
mind  of  this  apprehension,  his  letters  would 
have  comforted  her.  Thus  situated  she  turn- 
ed to  her  books  with  redoubled  zest,  and  her 
naturally  fine  intellect  wr:s  taxed  to  the  ut- 
most. Her  well-earned  pre-eminence  in  her 
classes  increased  the  jealou,sy,  the  dislike,  and 
ceusoriousness  of  her  less  studious  companions. 
Months  pas-sed ;  and  though  she  preserved  a 
calm,  impenetrable  exterior,  taking  no  heed 
of  sneers  and  constant  persecution,  yet  the 
worm  gnawed  its  slow  way,  and  the  plague- 
spot  sj)read  in  that  whilom  pure  spirit.  O^e 
Saturday  morning  she  eat  quite  alone  in  her 


42 


MACARIA. 


small  room;  the  week  had  been  specially 
painful,  and,  wi-arii'd  in  soul,  the  jrirl  laid  her 
head  down  on  her  folded  arms,  and  thought  of 
her  home  in  the  far  South.  The  spicy  fra- 
grance of  oranjre  and  majrnolia  eame  to  her, 
and  Erebus  and  Paragon  haunted  her  recol- 
lection. Oh  !  for  one  ride  througli  the  old 
pine-woods.  Oh !  for  one  look  at  the  water- 
lilies  bending  over  the  creek.  Only  one 
wretched  year  had  passed,  how  could  she  en- 
dure those  which  were  to  come.  A  loud  rap 
startled  lier  from  this  painful  reverie,  and  ere 
she  could  utter  the  stereotyped  "  come  in," 
Louisa  sprang  to  her  side. 

"  I  have  come  for  you,  Irene ;  have  obtained 
permission  from  Dr.  —  for  you  to  accompany 
us  to  the  Academy  of  Design.  Put  on  your 
bonnet;  Harvey  is  waiting  in  the  reception 
room.     We  shall  have  a  eliarniing  day." 

"  Ah,  Louisa !  you  are  all  very  kind  to  rec- 
ollect me  so  constantly.  It  will  give  me  great 
pleasure  to  go." 

When  they  joined  the  minister  Irene  fan- 
cied he»rcceived  her  coldly,  and  as  they  walk- 
ed on  he  took  no  i)art  in  the  conversation. 
The  annual  exhibition  had  just  opened ;  tlie 
rooms  were  thronged  with  visitors,  and  the 
hushed  tones  swelled  to  a  monotonous  hum. 
Some  stood  in  groups,  expatiating  eagerly  on 
certain  pictures;  others  occupied  the  seats 
and  leisurely  scanned  now  the  paintings,  now 
the  crowd.  Furnished  with  a  I'atalogue,  the 
girls  moved  slowly  on,  while  Mr.  Young  point- 
ed out  the  prominent  beauties  or  defects  of  tlic; 
works  exhibited.  They  made  the  cir<?hit  of 
the  room,  and  began  a  second  tour,  when  their 
attention  was  attracted  by  a  girl  who  stood  in 
one  corner,  witli  her  hands  clasped  behind  her. 
She  was  gazing  very  intently  on  an  Ecce- 
Homo,  and,  tliough  lier  face  was  turned  toward 
the  wall,  the  posture  bespoke  most  unusual 
interest.  She  was  (Iressed  in  black,  and,  liav- 
ing  removed  lier  straw  hat,  the  rippling  jetty 
hair,  cut  shwt  like  a  boy's,  glistened  in  ,the 
mellow  light.  Irene  looked  at  her  an  instant, 
and  held  her  breath ;  she  had  seen  only  one 
other  head  which  resembled  that  —  she  knew 
the  ])urplisli  waving  hair.  ''  What  is  the  mat- 
ter?" asked  the  minister,  noting  the  change 
in  her  countenance.  She  made  no  answer, 
but  leaned  forward  to  catch  a  glimpse'of  the 
face.  Just  then  the  black  figure  moved  slight- 
ly; she  saw  the  jjrofile,  the  beautiful  straight 
nose,  the  arched  brow,  the  clear  olive  cheek  ; 
and  gliding  up  to  her  she  exclaimed : 

"  Electra  !  Electra  Gr^y  !" 

The  orphan  turned,  and  they  were  locked 
in  a  tight  embrace. 

"  oh,  Irie !  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you.  I  hav« 
been  here  so  long,  and  looked  for  you  so 
often,  tkat  I  had  almost  despaired.  Whenever 
I  walk  down  Broadway,  whenever  I  go  out 
anywhere,  I  look  at  every  face,  peep  into 
every  bonnet,  hf)piug  to  fmd  you.  Oh  !  I  am 
so  glad." 


Joy  flushed  the  cheek*  and  fired  the  deep 
oj'cs,  and  people  turned  from  the  canva*  on 
the  walls  to  gaze  upon  two  faces  surpassing  in 
beauty  aught  that  the  Aca<lemy  contained. 

"  But  what  are  vou  doing  in  New  York, 
Electra?  Is  Russell  with  you?  How  long 
have  you  been  here  ?" 

"  Since  October  last.  Russell  is  at  home ; 
no,  he  has  no  home  now.  When  my  aunt 
died  we  separated;  I  came  on  to  study  under 
Mr.  Clifton's  care.  Have  you  not  heard  of 
our  loss  ?" 

"  1  have  been  able  to  hear  nothing  of  you. 
I  wrote  to  Dr.  Arnold,  inquiring  after  you, 
but  he  ]irobably  never  receive<l  my  letter." 

"  And  your  father  ?"  queried  Electra  proud- 
ly- 

"  Father  told  me  nothing." 

"  Is  the  grare  not  deep  enough  for  his 
hate  ?" 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"You  don't  probably  know  all  that  I  do; 
but  this  is  no  place  to  discuss  such  matters; 
some  time  we  will  talk  of  it.  Do  come  and 
see  tne  soon  —  soon.  I  must  go  now,  I  prom- 
ised." 

"  Where  do  you  live ;  I  will  go  home  with 
you  now." 

"I  am  not  going  homo  immediately.     Mr. 

Clifton's  house  is  No.  85  West street. 

Come  this  afternoon." 

AVith  a  long,  warm  pressure  of  hands  they 
parted,  and  Irene  stood  looking  after  the 
graceful  figure  till  it  glided  out  of  sight. 

"In  the  name  of  wonder,  who  is  that? 
You  two  have  bec'n  the  '  observed  of  all  ob- 
servers,' "  ejaculated  the  impulsive  Louisa. 

"  That  is  my  old  schoolmate  and  friend  of 
whom  I  once  spoke  to  you.  I  had  no  idea 
that  she  was  in  New  York.  She  is  a  poor 
orj)han." 

"  Are  you  ready  to  return  home  ?  This 
episode  has  evidently  driven  pictures  out  of 
your  head  for  to-day,"  said  Mr.  Young,  who 
had  endeavored  to  screen  her  from  obser- 
vation. 

"  Yes,  quite  ready  to  go,  though  I  hare 
enjoyed  the  morning  very  much  indeed,  thanks 
to  your  kindness." 

Soon  aftwr  they  reached  home,  Louisa  was 
called  intx)  the  parlor  to  see  a  young  friend, 
and  as  Mrs.  Young  was  absent,  Irene  found  it 
rather  lonely  up  stairs.  She  thought  of  a 
new  volume  of  travels  which  slrfe  had  noticed 
on  the  hall-table  as  they  entered,  and  started 
down  to  get  it.  About  half-way  of  the  flight 
of  steps  slie  caught  her  foot  in  the  carpeting 
where  one  of  the  rods  chanced  to  be  loose, 
and  despite  her  efforts  to  grasp  the  railing 
fell  to  the  floor  of  the  hall,  crushing  one  arm 
under  her.  The  library -door  was  thrown 
open  instantly,  an('  the  minister  came  out. 
She  lay  motionless,  and  he  bent  over  her. 

"  Irene  !    where  are ,  you  hurt  ?    Speak  to 


MACARIA. 


43 


He  raised  her  in  his  arms  and  placed  her 
on  the  sofa  in  the  sitting-room.  The  motion 
produced  great  pain,  and  she  groaned  and 
shut  her  eyes.  A  crystal  vase  containing 
some  exquisite  perfume  stood  on  his  mother's 
work-table,  and,  pourijig  a  portion  of  the 
contents  in  his  palm,  he'bathed  her  forehead. 
Acute  suffering  distorted  her  features,  and 
liis  face  grew  pallid  as  her  own  while  ht 
watched  her.  Taking  her  hand,  he  re- 
peated : 

"  Irene,  mv  darling !  tell  me  how  you  are 
hurt  ?"  ' 

She  looked  at  him,  and  said  with  some 
difficulty : 

"  My  ankle  pains  me  very  much,  and  I 
believe  my  arm  is  broken.     I  can't  move  it." 

"  Thank  God  you  were  not  killed." 

He  kissed  her,  then  turned  away  and  des- 
patched a  servant  for  a  physician.  He  sum- 
moned Louisa,  and  inquired  fruitlessly  for  his 
mother;  no  one  knew  whither  she  had  gone  ; 
it  would  not  do  to  wait  for  her.  He  stood  by 
the  sofa  and  prepared  the  necessary  bandages, 
while  his  sister  could  only  cry  over  and  caress 
the  sufferer.  When  the  physician  came  the 
white  dimpled  arm  was  bared,  and  he  discov- 
ered tliat  the  bone  was  broken.  The  setting 
was  extremely  painful,  but  she  lay  with  closed 
eyes  and  firmly  compressed  lips,  uttering  no 
sound,  giving  no  token  of  tlie  torture,  save  in 
the  wrinkling  of  her  forehead.  They  bound 
the  arm  tightly,  and  then  the  doctor  said  that 
the  ankle  was  badly  strained  and  swollen, 
but  there  was,  luckily,  no  fracture.  He  gave 
minute  directions  to  the  minister  and  with- 
drew, praising  the  patient's  remarkable  forti- 
tude. Louisa  would  talk,  and  her  brother 
sent  her  oh'  to  prepare  a  room  for  her  friend. 

"  I  think  I  had  better  go  back  to  the  Insti- 
tute, Mr.  Young.  It  will  be  a  long  time 
before  I  can  walk  again,  and  I  wish  you  would 

have  me  carried  back.     Dr. will  be  so 

uneasy,  and  will  prefer  myreturning,  as  father 
left  me  in  his  charge."  She  tried  to  ris6,  but 
sank  back  on  the  pillow. 

"  Hu.sh  !  hush  !  You  will  stay  where  you 
are,  little  cripple.  I  am  only  thankful  you 
happened  to  be  here." 

He  smoothed  the  folds  of  hair  from  her 
temples,  and  for  the  first  time  played  with  the 
curls  ho  had  so  often  before  been  tempted  to 
touch.  She  looked  .so  slight,  so  childish,  with 
her  head  nestled  against  the  pillow,  that  he 
forgot  she  was  almost  sixteen,  forgot  every- 
thing but  the  beauty  of  the  pale  face,  and 
bent  over  her  with  an  ex])ression  of  the  ten- 
derest  love.  She  was  suffering  too  much  to 
notice  hi.s  countenance,  and  only  felt  that  he 
was  very  kind  and  gentle.  Mrs.  Young  came 
in  very  soon,  and  heard  with  the  deepest 
solicitude  of  what  had  occurred.  Irene  again 
requested  to  be  taken  to  the  school,  fearing 
that  she  would  cause  too  much  trouble  during 
httr  long  confim«ni«nt  to  th«  h«usa.     But  M*^. 


Young  stopped  her  arguments  with  kisses, 
and  would  listen  to  no  such  arrangement ;  she 
would  trust  to  no  one  but  herself  to  nurse 
"the  bruised  Southern  lily."  Having  seen 
that  all  was  in  readiness,  she  insisted  on  car- 
rying her  guest  to  the  room  adjoining  Louisa's, 
and  opening  into  her  own.  JNIr.  Young  had 
gone  to  Boston  the  day  before,  and,  turning  to 
her  son,  she  said — 

"  Harvey,  as  your  father  is  away,  you  must 
take  Irene  up  stairs ;  I  am  not  strong  enough. 
Be  careful  that  you  do  not  hurt  her." 

She  led  the  way,  and;  bending  down,  he 
whispered — 

"  My  little  sister,  put  this  uninjured  arm 
around  my  neck ;  there — now  I  shall  carry  you 
as  easily  as  if  you  were  in  a  cradle." 

He  held  her  firmly,  and  as  he  bore  her  up  the 
steps  the  white  face  lay  on  his  bosom,  and  the 
golden  hair  floated  against  his  cheek.  If  she 
had  looked  at  him  then,  she  would  have  seen 
more  than  he  intended  that  an}'  one  should 
know ;  for,  young  and  free  from  vanity  though 
she  was,  it  was  impossible  to  mistake  the  ex- 
pression of  the  ej^es  riveted  upon  her.  She 
never  knew  how  hfs  great  heart  throbbed,  nor 
suspected  that  he  turned  liis  lips  to  the  stream- 
ing curls.  As  he  consigned  her  to  his  mother's 
care  she  held  out  her  hand  and  thanked  him 
for  his  great  kindness,  little  dreaming  of  the 
emotions  with  which  he  held  her  fingers.  He 
very  considerately  offered  to  go  at  once  to  the 
principal  of  the  school,  and  accjuaint  him  with 
all  that  had  occurred;  and,  ere  long,  when  an 
anodyne  haiTbeen  administered,  she  fell  asleep, 
and  found  temporary  relief  Mrs.  Young 
wrote  immediately  to  Mr.  Huntingdon,  and 
explained  the  circumstances  which  had  made 
his  daughter  her  guest  for  some  weeks  at 
least,  assuring  him  that  he  need  indulge  no 
apprehension  whatever  on  her  account,  as  she 
would  nur-e  her  as  tenderly  as  a  mother  could. 
Stupefied  l)y  the  opiate,  Irene  took  little  notice 
of  what  passed,  except  when  roused  by  the 

£ain  consequent  upon  dressing  the  ankle, 
ouisa  went  to  school  as  usual,  but  her  mother 
rarely  left  their  guest;  and  after  Mr.  Yonng's 
return  he  treated  her  with  all  the  affectionate 
consideration  of  a  parent.  Several  days  after 
the  occurrence. of  the  accident  Irene  turned 
toward  the  minister,  who  stood  talking  t6  his 
mother. 

"  Your  constant  kindness  emboldens  me  to 
ask  a  favor  of  you,  which  I  think  you  will 
scarcely  deny  ini'.  I  am  very  anxious  to  see 
the  friend  whom  I  so  unexpectedly  met  at  the 
Academy  of  Design  ;  and  if  she  knew  the  cir- 
cumstances that  prevent  my  leaving  the  house, 
I  am  very  sure  she  would  come  to  me.  Here 
is  a  card  containing  her  address;  will  you 
spare  me  the  time  to  bring  her  here  to-day  ? 
I  shall  be  very  much  obliged  to  you." 

"  I  think  you  ought  to  keep  perfectly  quiet, 
and  see  no  company  for  a  few  days.  Can't 
you  wait  pKtiantly  ?" 


44 


MACARIA. 


"  It  will  do  me  no  harm  to  see  her.  I  feel 
as  if  I  could  not  wait." 

"  Very  well.  I  will  go  after  her  as  so^n  as 
I  have  fulfilled  a  previous  engagement.  What 
is  her  name  ?" 

••  Electra  Grey.-    Did  you  notice  l}er  face  ?" 

"  Yes;  but  why  do  you  ask  V" 

"  Because  I  think  she  resembles  your  moth- 
er." 

"  She  resembles  far  more  an  old  portrait 
hanging  in  my  room.  I  remarked  it  as  soon 
aa  I  saw  her." 

He  seemed  lost  in  thought,  and  immediately 
after  left  the  room.  An  hour  later,  Irene's 
listening  ear  detected  the  opening  and  closing 
of  the  hall-door. 

'•Thire  is  Electra  on  the  steps;  I  hear  her 
voice.     "Will  you  please  open  the  door." 

]ilrs.  Young  laid  down  lier  work  and  rose  to 
comply,  but  Harvey  ushered  the  stranger  in 
and  then  retired. 

The  lady  of  the  house  looked  at  the  new- 
comer, and  a  startled  expression  came  instant- 
ly into  her  countenance.  She  made  a  step 
forward  and  paused  irresolute. 

"I\Irs.  Young,  allow  me-  to  introduce  my 
friend,  ^liss  Electra  (4rey."  Electra  bowed, 
and  Mrs.  Young  exclaimed — 

"Grpy!  Grey  I  Electra  Grey;  and  so  like 
Robert  ?  Oh  !  it  must  bo  so.  Child,  who  are 
you  ?     Where  ar*?  your  parents  V" 

SIio  ajjproachcd  and  put  her  hand  on  the 
girl's  shoulders,  while  a  hopeful  light  kindled 
in  her  eyes. 

"  I  am  an  orphan,  madam,  from  the  South. 
My  father  died  before  my  birtli,  my  mother 
immediately  after." 

"  W^as  your  father's  name  Robert?  Where 
was  he  from  V" 

"His  name  was  Enoch  R.  Grey.  I  don't 
know  what  his  middle  name  was.  He  came 
originally  from  Pennsylvania,  I  believe." 

"  Oh  !  I  knew  that  I  could  not  be  mistaken ! 
My  brother's  child  !     Robert's  child  !" 

She  threw  her  anus  around  the  astonished 
girl,  and  strained  her  to  her  heart. 

"  There  must  be  some  mistake,  madam.  I 
never  heard  that  I  had  relatives  in  New  York." 

"  Oh,  child!  call  me  aunt;  I  am  your  father's 
sister.  We  called  him  by  his  middle  name, 
Robert,  and  for  eighteen  years  have  heard 
nothing  of  him.  Sit  down  here,  and  let  me 
tell  you  tlie  circumstances.  Your  fcither  was 
the  youngest  of  three  children,  and  in  his 
youth  gave  us  great  distress  by  his  wildness; 
he  ran  away  from  college  and  went  to  sea. 
After  an  absence  of  three  years  he  returned, 
almost  a  wreck  of  his  former  self.  My  mother 
had  died  during  his  long  voyage  to  the  South 
Sea  islands,  and  father,  who  believed  him  to 
have  been  the  remote  cause  of  her  death  (for 
her  health  failed  soon  after  he  left),  upbraided 
him  most  harsldy  and  unwisely.  His  re- 
proaches drove  poor  Robert  to  desperation, 
and  without  giving  us  any  clew,  ho  left  home 


as  suddenly  as  before.  Whither  he  went  we 
never  knew.  Father  was  so  incensed  that  he 
entirely  disinherited  him ;  but  at  his  death, 
when  the  estate  was  divided,  my  brother  Wil- 
liam and  I  decided  that  we  would  take  only 
what  we  considered  our  proportion,  and  wo 
set  apart  one-third  for  Robert.  We  adver- 
tised for  several  years,  but  could  hear  nothing 
of  him ;  and,  at  the  end  of  the  fifth  year, 
William  divided  that  remaining  third.  We 
knew    tliat  he  must  have  died,  and  I  have 

[)assed  many  a  sleepless  night  weeping  over 
lis  wrctehod  lot.  mourning  tliat  no  kind  words 
reached  him  from  us;  that  no  monumental 
stone  marked  his  unknown  grave.  Oh,  my 
dear  child  !  1  am  so  glad  to  find  you  out.  But 
where  have  vou  been  all  this  time  ?  Where 
did  Robert  die  ?" 

She  held  the  orphan's  hand,  and  made  no 
attempt  to  conceal  the  tears  that  rolled  over 
her  checks.  Electra  gave  her  a  detailed  ac- 
count of  her  life  from  the  time  when  she  was 
taken  to  her  uncle,  Mr.  Aubrej-,  at  the  age  of 
four  months,  till  the  death  of  her  aunt  and 
her  removal  to  New  York. 

"And  Robert's  child  has  been  in  want,  while 
we  knew  not  of  her  existence  !  Oh,  Electra! 
you  shall  have  no  more  sorrow  that  we  can 
shield  you  from.  I  loved  yom-  father  very  de- 
votedly, and  I  shall  love  his  orphan  quito  as 
dearly.  Come  to  me,  let  mc  be  your  mother. 
Let  me  repair  the  wrong  of  by-gone  years." 

She  folded  her  arms  around'  the  graceful 
young  form  and  sobbed  aloud,  while  Irene 
iiaund  it  diilicult  to  repress  her  own  tears  of 
sympathy  and  joy  that  her  friend  had  found 
.such  relatives.  Of  the  three,  Electra  was 
calmest.  Tliough  glad  to  meet  with  her 
father's  family,  she  knew  better  than  they 
that  this  circumstance  cQiild  make  little  alter- 
ation in  her  life,  and  therefore,  when  Mrs. 
Young  left  the  room  to  acquaint  her  husband 
and  son  with  the  discovery  she  had  made, 
Electra  sat  down  beside  her  friend's  sofa  just 
as  she  would  hav(^  done  two  hours  before. 

"  I  am  so  glad  for  yoiu-  sake  that  you  are  to 
come  and  live  here.  Until  you  know  them 
all  as  well  as  I  do,  you  can  not  properly  ap- 
preciate your  good  fortune,"  said  li-ene,  raising 
herself  on  her  elbow. 

"  Yes,  I  am  very  glad  to  meet  my  aunt," 
returned  Electra  evasively,  and.  then  she 
added  earnestly  : 

"  But  I  rather  think  that  I  am  gladder  still 
to  see  you  again.  Oh,  Irene!  it  seems  an  age 
since  1  came  to  this  city.  We  have  both 
changed  a  good  deal;  you  look  graver  than 
when  we  i)arted  that  spring  morning  that  you 
took  me  to  .see  the  painter.  I  owe  even  his 
acijuaintance  to  your  kindness." 

"  Tell  mc  of  all  that  happened  after  I  left 
home.  You  know  that  I  have  heard  noth- 
ing." 

The  orphan  nan-ated  the  cireumstances 
connected  with  her  aunt's  last  illness  and 


MACARIA. 


45 


death ;  the  wretchedness  th^t  came  upon  her 
and  Russell ;  the  necessity  of  their  separa- 
tion. 

"  And  where  is  Russell  now  ?" 

"  At  home — that  is,  still  with  Mr.  Campbell, 
who  has  proved  a  kind  friend.  Russell  writes 
once  a  week;  he  seems  tolerably  cheerful,  and 
speaks  confidently  of  his  future  as  a  lawyer. 
He  studies  very  hard,  and  I  know  that  he 
will  succeed." 

"  Your  cousin  is  very  ambitious.  I  wish  he 
could  have  had  a  good  education." 

"It' will  be  all  the  same  in  the  end.  He 
will  educate  himself  thoroujihly ;  he  nec^ls 
nobody's  assistance,"  answered  Electra  with  a 
proud  smile. 

"  When  you  write  to  him  again  don't  forget 
to  tender  him  my  remembrances  and  begt 
wishes." 

"  Thank  you." 

A  slight  change  came  over  the  orphan's 
countenance,  and  her  companion  noted  with- 
out understanding  it. 

"  Electra,  you  spoke  of  my  father  the  other 
day  in  a  way  that  puzzled  me,  and  I  wish,  if 
you  please,  you  would  tell  me  what  you 
meant." 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  ought  to  talk  about 
things  that  should  have  been  buried  before 
you  were  born.  But  j^ou  probably  know 
something  of  what  happened.'  We  found  out 
after  you  left  wh.v  you  were  so  suddenly  sent 
off  to  boarding-school,  and  you  can  have  no 
idea  hoAv  much  my  poor  aunt  was  distressed 
at  the  thought  of  having  caused  your  banish- 
ment. Irene,  your  lather  hated  her,  and  of 
coin-se  you  know  it ;  but  do  you  know  why  ?" 

"  No ;  I  never  could  imagine  ^ny  adequate 
cause." 

"  Well,  I  can  tell  you.  Before  aunt  Amy'g 
marriage  your  father  loved  her,  and  to  please 
her  j)arcnts  she  accepted  him.  She  was  mis- 
erable, because  she  was  very  much  attached  to 
my  uncle,  and  asked  Mr.  Huntingdon  to  re- 
lease her  from  the  engagement.  He  declined, 
and  finding  that  her  parents  sided  with  liim 
she  left  home  and  manied  against  their 
wishes.  They  adopted  a  distant  relative,  and 
never  gave  her  a  cent,  lour  father  never 
forgave  her.  He  had  great  inlluence  with  the 
governor,  and  she  went  to  him  and  entreated 
him  to  aid  her  in  procuring  a  pardon  for  her 
husband.  He  repulsed  her  cruelly,  and  used 
hid  influence  against  my  uncle.  She  after- 
ward saw  a  letter  which  he  wrote  to  the 
governor,  urn^ng  him  to  withhold  a  pardon. 
Oh,  Irene  1  if  you  could  have  seen  Russell 
when  he  found  out  all  this.  Now  you  have 
the  key  to  his  hatred ;  now  you  understand 
Avhy  he  wrote  you  nothing  concerning  us. 
Not  even  aunt  Amy's  coffin  could  shut  in  his 
hate." 

She  ro.se,  and,  walking  to'  the  window, 
pressed  her  face  against  the  panes  to  cool 
her  buruint;  checks. 


Irene  had  put  her  hand  over  her  eyes,  and 
a  fearful  panorama  of  coming  years  rolled 
before  her  in  that  brief  moment.  She  saw 
with  miserable  distinctness  the  parallelism 
between  Mrs.  Aubrey's  father  antl  her  own, 
and,  sick  at  heart,  she  moaned,  contemplating 
her  lot.  A  feeling  of  remorseful  compassion 
touched  the  orphan  as  she  hoard  the  smoth- 
ered soun^,  and,  resuming  her  seat,  she  said 
gently :     • 

"  Do  not  be  distressed,  Irene ;  '  let  the 
dead  past  bury  its  dead ;'  it  is  all  over  now, 
aud  no  more  harm  can  come  of  it.  I  shall  be 
sorry  that  I  told  you  if  you  let  it  trouble 

yo"-" 

Irene  knew  too  well  that  it  was  not  over ; 
that  it  was  but  the  beginning  of  harm  to  her; 
but  she  repressed  her  emotion,  and  changed 
the  subject  by  inquiring  how  Electra  pro- 
gressed with  her  painting. 

"  Even  better  than  I  hoped.  Mr.  Clifton  is 
an  admirable  njaster,  and  does  all  that  he  can 
to  aid  me.  I  shall  succeed,  Irene !  I  know, 
I  feel  that  I  shall,  and  it  is  a  great  joy  to 
me." 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it ;  but  now  you 
will  have  no  need  to  labor,  as  you  once  ex- 
pected to  do.  You  are  looking  nnich  better 
than  I  ever  saw  you,  and  have  grown  taller. 
You  are  nearly  sixteen,  I  believe  ?" 

"  Yes,  sixteen.  I  am  three  months  your 
senior.  Irene,  I  must  go  home  now,  for  they 
will  wonder  what  has  become  of  me.  I  will 
see  you  again  soon." 

She  was  detained  by  her  aunt,  and  present- 
ed to  the  remainder  of  the  f;\mily,  and  it  was 
arranged  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Young  should 
visit  her|the  ensuing  day.  While  they  talked 
over  the  tea-table  of  the  newly-fbund,  Harvey 
went  slowly  up  stairs  and  knocked  at  Irene's 
door.  Louisa  was  chattering  delightedly  about 
her  cousin,  and,  sending  her  down  to  her  tea, 
he  took  her  seat  beside  the  sofa.  Irene  lay 
with  her  fingers  over  her  eyes,  and  he  said 
gently — 

"You  see  that  I  am  wiser  than  you,  Irene. 
I  knew  that  it  would  do  you  no  good  to  have 
company.     Next  time  be  advised." 

"  It  was  not  Electra  that  harmed  me." 

"  Then  you  admit  that  you  have  been 
harmed  V" 

"  No ;  I  am  low-spirited  to-night ;  I  believe 
that  is  all." 

"You  have  not  studied  dialectics  yet.  Peo- 
ple are  not  low-spirited  without  a  cause ;  tell 
me  what  troubles  you." 

She  turned  her  face  to  the  wall,  and  an- 
swered— 

"  Oh  I  there  is  nothing  which   I  can   tell 
you,  sir." 
^"  Irene,  why  do  you  distrust  me?" 

"  I  do  not ;  indeed  I  do  not.  You  must  not 
believe  that  for  one  moment." 

"  You  are  distressed,  and  yet  will  not  con- 
fidti  in  me. ' 


46 


MACARIA. 


"  It  is  something  -which  I  ought  not  to  tell 
even 'my  friend,  my  brother." 

"  You  are  sure  that  it  is  something  I  could 
not  remedy  ?" 

"Yes,  sir;  perfectly  sure." 

"  Then  try  to  forget  it,  and  let  me  read  to 

TOU." 

He  opened  the  "  Rambler,"  of  which  she 
T.-as  particularly  fond,  and  bccan  to  read. 
For  a  while  she  listened,  and  in  her  intere«t 
forgot  her  forebodings,  but  after  a  time  the 
long  gillcy  lashes  swept  her  cheeks,  and  she 
slept.  The  minister  laid  down  the  volume 
and  watched  the  pure  girlish  face ;  noted  all 
its  witching  loveliness,  and  thought  of  the 
homage  which  it  would  win  her  in  coming 
years.  A  few  more  ileeting  months,  and  she 
would  reign  the  undisputed  queen  ot  society. 
Wealth,  intellect,  manly  beauty,  all  would 
bow  before  her ;  and  slie  was  a  woman  ; 
would  doubtless  love  and  marry,  like  the  ma- 
jority of  women.  He  set  this  fact  before  him 
and  lo.jki  .i  it  in  the  face,  but  it  would  not 
answer;  lie  could  not  realize  that  she  would 
ever  be  other  than  the  trusting,  noble-hearted, 
iMjautiful  child  whicli  she  was  to  him.  He 
knew  as  he  sat  watcliing  her  slumber  that  he 
loved  her  above  everything  on  earth;  that 
she  wielded  a  power  none  bad  ever  possessed 
before — that  his  heart  was  indissolubly  linked 
with  lier.  He  had  wrestled  with  this  infatufj- 
tion,  had  stationed  himself  on  the  platform  of 
sound  common  sense,  and  railed  at  and  ridi- 
culed tliis  piece  of  folly.  His  clear,  cool  reason 
gave  solenm  verdict  against  the  fiercely-throb- 
bing heart,  but  not  one  pulsation  had  been 
restrained.  At  his  age,  with  his  profession 
and  long-laid  plans,  this  was  arrant  madness, 
and  he  admitted  it;  but  the  long  down-trodden 
feelings  of  his  heart,  having  gained  momentary 
freedom,  exultingly  ran  riot  and  refused  to  be 
reined  in.  He  might  just  as  well,  have  laid 
his  palm  on  the  whitened  crest  of  surging  bil- 
lows in  stormy,  tropical  seas,  and  bid  tiiem 
sink  softly  down  to  their  coral  jiavements. 
Human  passions,  hatred,  ambition,  revenge, 
love,  are  despots;  and  the  minister,  who  for 
thirty  years  had  struggled  lor  mastery  over 
these,  now  found  himself  a  slave.  He  had 
studied  Irene's  countenance  too  well  not  to 
know  that  a  shadow  rested  on  it  now  ;  and  it 
"■rieved  and  perplexed  him  that  she  should 
(•onceal  this  trouble  trom  him.  As  he  sat 
looking  down  at  her,  a  mighty  barrier  rose 
between  them.  His  future  had  long  been  de- 
termined— duty  called  him  to  the  rude  huts  of 
the  far  West;  thither  jxtinted  the  finger  of 
destiny,  and  thither,  at  all  hazards,  he  would 
go.  He  thought  that  he  had  habituated  him- 
self to  sacrifices,  but  the  spirit  of  self-abnega- 
tion was  scarcely  equal  to  this  trial.  Reason 
taught  him  that  the  tenderly-nurtured  child 
of  southern  climes  would  never  suit  him  for  a 
companion  in  the  pioneer  life  which  he  had 
marked  out.     Of  course,  he  must  leave  her ; 


hundreds  of  miles  would  intervene ;  hismemory 
would  fade  from  her  mind,  and  for  him  it  only 
remained  to  bury  her  image  in  the  prairies  of 
his  new  home.  He  folded  his  arms  tightly  over 
his  chest,  and  resolved  to  go  promptly. 

The  gas-light  flashed  on  Irene's  hair  as  it 
hung  over  the  side  of  the  sofa ;  he  stooped, 
and  pressed  his  lips  to  the  floating  curls  and 
went  down  to  the  library,  smiling  grimly  at 
his  own  folly.  Without  delay  he  wrote  two 
letters,  and  was  dating  a  third,  when  his 
mother  came  in.  Placing  a  chair  for  her,  he 
laitl  flown  his  pen. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  mother ;  I  want  to 
have  a  talk  with  you." 

"  About  what,  Harvey  ?" — an  anxious  look 
settled  on  her  face. 

"  About  my  leaving  you,  and  going  west. 
I  have  decided  to  start  ne.xt  week." 

"  Oh,  my  son !  how  can  you  bring  such 
grief  upon  me  V  Surely  there  is  work  enough 
lor  you  to  do  here,  without  your  tearing  your- 
self from  us." 

"  Yes,  mother,  work  enough,  but  hands 
enough  also,  without  mine.  These  are  the 
sunny  slopes  of  the  Vineyard,  and  laborers 
crowd  to  till  them ;  but  there  are  cold,  shad- 
owy, barren  nooks  and  corners,  that  equally 
demand,  cultivation.  There  the  lines  have 
fallen  to  me,  and  there  I  go  to  my  work. 
Nay,  mother  !  don't  weep  ;  don't  heighten,  by 
your  entreaties  and  remonstrances,  the  bar- 
riers to  my  departure.  It  is  peculiarly  the 
province  of  such  as  I  to  set  forth  for  this  field 
of  operations  ;  men  who  have  wives  and  chil- 
dren have  no  riglit  to  subject  them  to  the  pri- 
vations and  hardships  of  pioneer  life.  But  I 
am  alone — shall  always  be  so — and  this  call  I 
feel  to  be  imperative.  You  know  that  I  have 
dedicated  myself  to  the  ministry,  and  what- 
ever I  firmly  believe  to  be  my  duty  to  the 
holy  cause  I  have  espoused,  that  I  must  do — 
even  though  it  separate  me  from  my  mother. 
It  is  a  severe  ordeal  to  me — you  will  probably 
never  know  how  severe  ;  but  we  who  profess 
to  yield  up  all  things  for  Christ  nmst  not 
shrink  from  sacrifice.  I  shall  come  back  now 
and  then,  and  letters  are  a  blessed  medium  of 
communication  ;wid  consolation.  I  have  de- 
layed my  departure  too  loug  already." 

"  Oh,  Harvey !  have  you  fully  determined 
on  this  step  ?" 

"Yes,  my  dear  mother,  fully  determined  to 

"  It  13  very  hard  for  me  to  give  up  ray  only 
son.  I  can't  say  that  I  will  reconcile  myself 
to  this  separation  ;  but  you  are  old  enough  to 
decide  your  own  future ;  and  I  suppose  I 
ought  not  to  urge  you.  For  months  I  have 
opposed  your  resolution,  now  I  will  not  longer 
remonstrate.  Oh,  Harvey  !  it  makes  my  heart 
ache  to  part  with  you.  If  you  were  married, 
I  should  be  better  satisfied ;  but  to  think  of 
you  in  your  loneliness  !"  She  laid  her  head 
on  his  shoulder,  and  wept. 


MACARIA. 


The  minister  compressed  his  lips  firmly  an 
instant,  then  replied : 

"  I  always  told  you  that  I  should  never  mar- 
ry. I  shall  be  too  constantly  occupied  to  sit 
down  and  feel  lonely.  Now,  mother,  I  must 
finish  my  letters,  if  you  please,  for  they  should 
go  by  the  earliest  mail." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

The  artist  stood  at  the  window  watching 
for  his  pupil's  return  ;  it  was  the  late  afternoon 
hour,  which  they  were  wont  to  spend  in  read- 
ing, and  her  absence  annoyed  him.  As  he 
rested  carelessly  against  the  window,  his 
graceful  form  was  displayed  to  great  advan- 
tage, and  the  long  brown  hair  drooped  about 
a  classical  face  of  almost  feminine  beauty. 
The  delicacy  of  his  features  was  enhanced  by 
the  extreme  pallor  of  his  complexion,  and  it 
was  apparent  that  close  application  to  his  pro- 
fession had  made  serious  inroads  on  a  consti- 
tution never  very  rdbust.  A  certain  listless- 
ncss  of  manner,  a  sort  of  lazy-grace  seemed 
characteristic  ;  but  when  his  pupil  came  in 
and  laid  aside  her  bonnet,  the  expression  of 
ennui  vanished,  and  he  threw  himself  on  a 
sofa,  looking  infinitely  relieved.  She  drew 
near,  and  without  hesitation  acquainted  him 
with  the  discovery  of  her  relatives  in  Ne^T 
York.  He  listened  in  painful  surprise,  and, 
ere  she  had  concluded,  sprang  up.  "  I  un- 
derstand !  they  will  want  to  take  you  ;  will 
urge  you  to  share  their  home  of  wealth.  But, 
Electra,  you  won't  leave  me  ;  surely  you  won't 
leave  me  ?" 

He  put  his  hands  on  her  shoulders,  and  she 
knew  from  his  quick,  irregular  breathing,  that 
the  thought  of  separation  grpatly  distressed 
him. 

"  My  aunt  has  not  explicitly  invited  me  to 
reside  with  her,  though  I  inferred  from  her 
manner  that  she  confidently  expected  me  to 
do  .so.  Irene  also  spoke  of  it  as  a  settled 
matter." 

"  You  will  not  allow  them  to  persuade  you  ? 
Oh,  child  !  tell  me  at  once  that  you  will  never 
leave  me." 

"Mr.  Clifton,  we  must  part  some  dJvy;  I 
cannot  always  live  here,  you  know.  Before 
very  long  I  must  go  out  and  earn  my  bread." 

"  Never !  while  I  live.  When  I  offered 
you  a  home,  I  expected  it  to  be  a  permanent 
one.  I  intended  to  adopt  you.  Here,  if  you 
choose,  you  may  work  and  earn  a  reputation  ; 
but  away  from  me,  among  strangers,  never. 
Electra,  you  forget;  you  gave  yourself  to  mo 
once.'' 

She  shuddered,  and  tried  to  release  herself, 
but  ^ip  hands  were  relentless  in  their  grasp. 

"  iQectra,  you  belong  to  me,  my  child. 
Whom  have  I  to  love  but  you,  my  dear  pupil  ? 
What  should  I  do  without  you  V" 


"  I  have  no  intention  of  living  with  my 
aunt ;  I  desire  to  be  under  obligations  to  no 
one  but  yourself.  But  I  am  very  proud,  and 
even  temporary  dependence  on  you  galls  me. 
You  are,  I  believe,  the  best  friend  I  have  on 
earth,  and  until  I  can  support  myself  I  will 
remain  under  your  care  ;  longer  than  that,  it 
would  be  impossible.  I  am  bound  to  you,  my 
generous,  kind  master,  as  to  no  one  else." 

"  This  does  not  satisfy  me;  the  thought  that 
you  will  leave  me,  at  even  a  distant  day,  will 
haunt  me  continually — ^marring  all  my  joy. 
It  can  not  bo,  Electra !  You  gave  yourself  to 
me  once,  und  I  claim  you." 

She  looked  into  his  eyes,  and,  with  a  wo- 
man's quick  perception,  read  all  the  truth. 

In  an  instant  her  countenance  changed 
painfully;  she  stooped,  touched  his  hand 
with  her  lips,  and  exclaimed  : 

"  Thank  you,  a  thousand  tiaies,  my  friend, 
my  father  !  for  your  interest  in,  and  your  un- 
varying, unparalleled  kindness  to  me.  All 
the  gratitude  and  affection  which  a  child 
could  give  to  a  parent  I  shall  always  cherish 
toward  you.  Since  it  annoys  you,  we  will  say 
no  more  about  the  future ;  let  the  years  take 
care  of  themselves  as  they  come." 

"  Will  you  promise  me,  positively,  that  you 
will  not  go  to  your  aunt  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  I  have  never  seriously  entertained 
the  thought." 

She  escaped  from  his  hands,  and,  lighting 
the  gas,  applied  herself  to  her  books  for  the 
next  hour. 

If  Irene  had  found  the  restraint  of  boarding- 
school  irksome,  the  separation  from  Russell 
was  well  nigh  intolerable  to  Electra.  At  first 
she  had  seemed  plunged  in  lethargy ;  but 
after  a  time  this  mood  gave  place  to  restless, 
unceasing  activity.  Like  one  trying  to  flee 
from  something  painful,  she  rushed  daily  to 
her  work,  and  regretted  when  the  hours  of 
darkness  consigned  her  to  reflection.  Mrs. 
Clifton  was  quite  aged,  and  though  uniformly 
gentle  and  affectionate  toward  the  orphan, 
there  was  no  common  ground  of  congeniality 
on  which  they  could  meet.  To  a  jiroud,  ex- 
acting nature  like  Electra's,  Mr.  Clifton's  con- 
stant manifestations  of  love  and  sympathy 
were  very  soothing.  Writhing  under  the  con- 
sciousness of  her  cousin's  indifference,  she 
turned  eagerly  to  receive  the  tokens  of  affec- 
tion showered  upon  her.  She  knew  that  his 
happiness  centred  in  her,  and  vainly  fancied 
that  she  could  feed  her  hungry  heart  with  his 
adoration.  But  by  degrees  she  realized  that 
these  husks  would  not  satisfy  her ;  and  a  sin- 
gular sensation  of  mingled  gratitude  and  im- 
patience arose  whenever  he  caressed  her.  In 
ins  house  her  fine  intellect  found  ample  range  ; 
an  extensive  library  wooed  her,  when  not  en- 
gaged with  her  pencil,  and  with  eager  curi- 
osity she  plunged  into  various  departments  of 
study.  As  might  ea>^ily  have  been  predicted, 
from   the   idealistic   tendency  of   her  entire 


48 


MACARIA. 


mental  conformatioo,  she  early  selected  the 
imivginative    realm   as   peculiarly    her    own. 
Over  moth-eaten  volumes  of  mytliologic  lore 
she  pored  continually;  tffett;  theogonies  and 
cosmogonies     seized     upon    her    fancy,   and 
peopled  all  space  with  ihc  go<is  and  heroes  of 
most  ancient  days.     She  lived  among  weird  j 
phantasmagoric  creations  of  Sagas  and  Pura-  j 
nas,  and  roamed  from  Asgard  to   KinkaduUe, 
having  little  sympathy  or  care  for  the  realities  ' 
that  surrounded  her.     IMr.  Clifton's  associates  \ 
were  ])rin(ipally  artists,  and  the  conversations  , 
to  whirl)  vlu>  listened   tended  to  increase  her  ! 
enthusiasm  for  the  proft'ssiou  she  had  chosen,  j 
She  had   no  lemale   companion,  except  Mrs.  | 
Clifton,   and  little  leisure  to  discuss  the  topics  : 
which  ordinarily  engage  girls  of  her  age.      The 
warm  gusliings  of  her  heart  were  driven  back  i 
to  their  springs,  and  lojked  from  human  gaze  ;  I 
yet  she  sometimes  felt  her  isolation  almost  in-  ' 
tolerable.     To  escape  from  lierself,  she  was  , 
goaded  into    feverish    activity,    and,    toiling  i 
to-day,  shut  her  ejes  to  the  to-morrow.  j 

She  counted  the  days  between  Russell's  let-  i 
ters  ;  when  they  arrived,  snatched  them  with  ' 
trembling  fingers,   and   hastened  to  her  own  ' 
room  to  devour  them.     Once  read  and  folded  ! 
away,  this  thought  fell   witii  leaden  weight  | 
upon  her  heart :  "  There  is  so  little  in  this  letter,  I 
and   now   1  must  wait  another  long  week  lor  j 
the    next."     He    never    surmised    half    her  i 
wretchedness,  for  she  proudly  concealed  her  j 
discontent,  and  wrote  asif  happy  and  hopeful,  j 
The  shell  of  her  reserve  was   beautifully  jiol- 
ished  and  painted,   and  it  never  occurretl  to 
him  that  it  enclosed  dark  cells,  where  only 
wailings  echoed.     In  figure,  she  was  decidedly 
pe/it,  but  faultlesjly  symmetrical  and  grace- 
ful ;    and  the  picjuant  beauty  of  her  face  won 
her  the  admiration  of  those  who  fretjuented 
the  studio. 

Among  the  artists  especially,  she  was  a  well 
established  pet,  privileged  to  inspect  their 
work  whenever  she  felt  disjiosed,  and  always 
warndy  welcomed.  They  encouraged  her  in 
her  work,  stimulated  her  by  no  means  dor- 
mant ambition,  and  predictecl  a  brilliant  antl 
successful  career.  Mrs.  Clifton  was  a  rigid 
Roman  Catholic,  her  son  a  free-thinker,  in  the 
broadest  significance  of  the  term,  if  one  might 
judge  Irom  the  selections  that  adorned  his 
library  shelves.  But  deep  in  his  soul  was  the 
germination  of  a  mystical  creed,  which  gradu- 
ally unfolded  itself  to  Electra.  The  simple 
yet  sublime  faith  of  her  aunt  rajjidly  faded 
from  the  girl's  heart ;  she  turned  from  its  se- 
vere simplicity  to  the  gorgeous  accessories  of 
other  systems.  The  pomps  of  ceremonial,  the 
bewildering  adjuncts  of  another  creed,  wooed 
her  overweeuing,  excited  fancy.  Of  doctrine 
she  knew  little,  and  cared  less ;  the  bare  walia 
and  <(uict  service  of  the  old  church  at  Rome 
had  tor  her  no  attraction  ;  she  revelled  in  dim 
cathedral  light,  among  mellow,  ancient  pic- 
tures, where  pale  wreaths  of  incense  curled, 


and  solemn  organ  tones  whispered  through 
marble  aisles.  She  would  sit  with  folded 
arms,  watching  the  forms  of  devotees  glide  in 
and  out,  and  prostrate  themselves  before  the 
images  on  the  gilt  altar;  and  fancy  wafted 
her,  at  such  times,  to  the  dead  ages  of  imperial 
Greece,  when  devout  hearts  bore  oflTcrings  to 
1  )elphi,  Delos,  Dodona,  and  Eleusis.  An  arch- 
idolatress  she  would  have  been  in  the  ancient 
days  of  her  Mycen.fan  namesake — a  priestess 
of  Demeter  or  Artemis.  At  all  hazards  this 
(hiinty  fancy  must  be  pampered,-  and  she 
gleaned  aliment  from  every  source  that  could 
possibly  yield  it,  Ibstering  a  despotic  tendency 
which  soon  towered  above  every  otlier  ele- 
ment of  her  being.  The  first  glimpse  of  her 
teacher's  Swedenborgian  faith  was  sufficient 
to  rivet  her  attention.  She  watched  the  ex- 
jiansion  of  his  theories,  and  essayed  to  follow 
the  profound  trains  of  argumentation,  based  on 
physical  analogies  and  correspondences,  which 
led  him  so  irresistibly  to  his  conclusions.  But 
dialectics  formed  no  j)ortion  of  her  intellectual 
heritage,  and  her  imagination,  seizing,  by  a 
kind  of  secret  alHnity,  the  spiritualistic  ele- 
ments of  the  system,  turned  with  loathing  from 
the  granite -like,  scientific  fundamentals. 
Irene  would  have  gone  down  among  the  mor- 
tar and  bricks,  measuring  the  tbundations,  but 
Electra  gazed  upoii  the  exquisite  acanthus 
wreathings  of  the  ornate  cajntals,  the  glowing 
frescoes  of  the  mighty  nave,  and  here  was  con- 
tent to  rest.  Mr.  Clifton  never  attempted  to 
restrain  her  movements  or  oppose  her  incli- 
nations ;  like  a  bee  she  roved  (.easelessly  from 
book  to  book,  seeking  honey,  and,  without  the 
safeguard  of  its  unerring  instinct,  she  fre- 
quently gathered  poison  from  lovely  chalices. 
Ah,  Amy  Aubrey  I  it  was  an  evil  day  for  your 
orphan  charge,  when  Atropos  cut  the  tan- 
gled thread  of  your  life,  and  you  left  her  to 
follow  the  dictates  of  her  stormy  temperament. 
Yet  otherwise,  nature  could  never  have  fully 
woven  the  pattern  ;  it  would  have  been  but  a 
blurred,  imperfect  design.  It  was  late  at  night 
when  Electra  retired  to  her  room,  and  sat 
down  to  collect  her  thoughts  after  the  unex- 
pected occurrences  of  the  day. 

More  than  one  discovery  had  been  made 
since  the  sunrise,  which  she  awoke  so  early 
to  study.  She  had  found  relatives,  and  an 
opportunity  of  living  luxuriously  ;  but,  in  the 
midst  of  this  beautiful  houi/uet  of  surprises,  a 
serpent's  head  peered  out  at  her.  Once  be- 
ibre,  she  thought  she  had  cauglit  sight  of  its 
writhing  folds,  but  it  vanished  too  instantane- 
ously to  furnish  disquiet.  Now  its  glittering 
eyes  held  her  spell-bound  ;  like  the  Pentagram 
in  FaustT,  it  kept  her  in  "durance  vile."  She 
woulil  lain  have  shut  her  eyes,  had  it  been  pos- 
sible. Mr.  Clifton  loved  her;  not  as  a  teacher 
his  pupil,  not  as  guardian  loves  ward,  not  as 
parent  loves  child.  Perhaps  he  had  not  intend- 
ed that  she  should  know  it  so  soon,  but  his  eyes 
had  betrayed  the  secret.     She  saw  perfectly 


MACARIA. 


4»- 


how  matters  stood.  This,  then,  had  prompted 
him,  frgm  the  first,  to  render  her  assistance ; 
he  had  resolved  to  make  her  his  wife ;  nothin^q 
less  would  content  him.  She  twisted  her 
white  ilngers  in  her  hair,  and  <i;azed  vacantly 
down  on  the  carpet,  and  gradually  the  rich 
crimson  blood  sank  out  of  her  face.  She  held 
his  lif«  in  the  hollow  of  her  hand,  and  this  she 
well  knew;  death  hung  over  him  like  the 
sword  of  Damocles ;  she  had  been  told  that 
any  violent  agitation  or  grief  would  bring  on 
the  hemorrhage  which  he-  so  much  dreaded, 
and  although  he  seemed  stronger  and  better 
than  usual,  the  insidious  nature  of  his  disease 
gave  her  little  hope  that  he  would  ever  be  ro- 
bust. To  feign  ignorance  of  his  real  feelings 
for  her,  would  prove  but  a  temporary  strata- 
gem ;  the  time  must  inevitably  come,  before 
long,  when  he  would  put  aside  this  veil  and 
set  the  truth  before  her.  How  should  she 
meet  it — how  should  she  evade  him  ?  Accept 
the  home  which  Mrs.  Young  would  offer  her, 
and  leave  him  to  suffer  briefly,  to  sink  swiftly 
into  the  tnnib  ?  No;  her  father's  family  had 
cast  him  most  unjustly  off,  withholding  his  pa- 
trimony ;  and  now  she  scorned  to  f-Sceive  one 
cent  of  the  money  which  his  fatlier  was  un- 
willing that  he  should  enjoy.  Beside,  wivo 
loved  her  as  well  as  Henry  Clifton  ?  She 
owed  more  to  him  than  to  any  livijig  being;  it 
would  be  the  part  of  an  ingrate  to  leave  him  ; 
it  was  cowardly  to  shrink  from  repaj'ing  the 
debt.  But  the  thought  of  being  his  wife  froze 
her  blood,  and  heavy  drops  gathered  on  her 
brow  asS'  he  endeavored  to  reflect  upon  this 
possibility. 

A  feeling  of  unconquerable  repulsion  sprang 
up  in  her  heart,  nerving,  steeling  her  against' 
his  affection.  With  a  strange  instantaneous 
reaction,  she  thought  with  loathing  of  his 
words  of  endearment.  How  could  she  endure 
them  in  future,  yet  how  reject  without  wound- 
ing him?  One,  and  only  one,  path  of  escape 
presented  itself — a  path  of  measureless  joy. 
She  lifted  hor  hands,  and  murmured : 

"  Russell !  Russell !  save  me  from  this." 

AVhen  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Young  visited  the  stu- 
dio the  following  day,  and  urged  the  orphan's* 
removal  to  their  house,  she  gently  but  reso- 
lutely declined  their  generous  offer,  expres- 
sing an  affectionate  gratitude  toward  her 
teacher,  and  a  determination  not  to  leave  him, 
at  least  for  the  present.  Mrs.  Young  was 
much  distressed,  and  arlduccd  every  argument 
of  which  she  was  mistress,  biit  her  niece  re- 
mained firm;  and,  finding  their  entreaties 
fruitless,  Mr.  Young  said  that  he  would  im- 
mediately take  the  necessary  steps  to  secure 
Robert  Grey's  portiojiL  of  the  estate  to  his 
daughter.  Electra  sat  with  her  hand  nestled 
in  hor  aunt's,  but  when  this  matter  was  alluded 
to  iJie  rose,  »nd  said  proudly  : 

"  No,  sir  ^  let  the  estate  remain  just  as  it  is. 
I  will  never  accept  one  cent.     My  grandfather 
on  bit  death-bed  e.^cluded  my  father  from  any 
4 


portion  of  it,  and  since  he  willed  it  so,  even  so 
it  shall  be.  I  have  no  legal  claim  to  a  dollar, 
and  I  will  never  receive  one  from  your  gene- 
rosity. It  was  the  will  of  the  dead  that  you 
and  my  uncle,  William,  should  inherit  the 
whole,  and,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned,  have  it 
you  shall.  I  am  poor,  I  know  ;  so  were  my 
parents ;  poverty  they  bequeathed  as  my 
birthright,  and  even  as  they  lived  without  aid 
irom  my  grandfather,  so  will  I.  It  is  very 
noble  and  generous  in  you,  after  the  expira- 
tion of  nearly  twenty  years,  to  be  willing  to 
divide  with  the  orphan  of  the  outcast ;  but  I 
will  not,  can  not,  allow  you  to  do  so.  I  fully 
appreciate  and  most  cordially  thank  you  both 
for  your  goodness  ;  but  I  am  young  and  strong, 
and  I  expect  to  earn  my  living.  Mr.  Clifton 
and  his  mother  want  me  to  remain  in  his 
house  until  I  finish  my  studies,  and  I  grate- 
fully accept  his  kind  offer.  Nay,  aunt !  don't 
let  it  trouble  you  so ;  I  shall  visit  you  very 
frequ,ently." 

"  She  has  all  of  Robert's  fierce  obstinacy. 
I  see  it  in  her  eyes,  hear  it  ringing  in  the 
tones  of  her  voice.  Take  care,  child  !  it  ru- 
ined your  father,"  said  Mrs.  Young  sorrow- 
fuUy.^ 

"  You  should  remember,  Electra,  that  an 
orplian  girl  needs  a  protector ;  such  I  would 
fain  prove  myself." 

As  Mr.  Young  spoke,  he  took  one  of  her 
hands  and  drew  her  to  him.  She  turned 
quickly  and  laid  the  other  on  the  artist's  arm. 

"  I  have  one  here,  sir  ;  a  protector  as  true 
and  kind  as  my  own  father  could  be." 

She  understood  the  flash  of  his  eyes  and  his 
proud  smile,  as  he«a"ssured  her  relatives  that 
he  Avould  gfi'ard  her  from  harm  and  want  so 
long  as  he  lived,  or  as  she  remained  under  his 
care.  She  knew  he  regarded  this  as  a  tacit 
sealing  of  the  old  compact,  and  she  had  no  in- 
clination to  undeceive  him  at  this  juncture. 

Urging  her  to  visit  them  as  often  as  possible, 
and  extending  the  invitation  to  Mr.  Clifton, 
the  Youngs  withdrew,  evidently  much  disap- 
pointed ;  and,  as  the  door  closed  behind  them, 
Electra  felt  thAt  the  circle  of  doom  was  nar- 
rowing around  her.  Mr.  Clifton  approached 
her,  but  averting  her  head  she  lifted  the  dam- 
ask curtain  that  divided  the  parlor  from  the 
studio  and  effected  her  retreat,  dreading  to 
mvet  his  glaftce — putting  off  the  evil  day  as 
long  as  pojjsible — trying  to  trample  the  ser- 
pent that  trailed  after  her  from  that  hour.. 


CHAPTER  X. 

"  You  arc  better,  to-day,  mother  tells  me." 

"  Yes,  thank  you,  my  foot  is  much  better. 
You  have  not  been  up  to  see  me  for  two  days." 

Irene  sat  in  an  eaiiy  chair  by  the  open  win- 
dow, and  the  minister  took  a  seat  near  her. 

"  I   have  not  forgotten  you  in  the  inttrim, 


50 


MACAIUA. 


liowever."  As  he  spoke  he  laid  a  bouquet  of 
choice  flowers  in  Iwr  lap..  She  bent  over 
them  wiili  cagL-r  delight,  and  held  out  one 
band,,8ayinj: :      , 

"  Oh,  thank  you ;  how  very  kind  you  are. 
These  remind  me  of  the  p-een-honse  at  home; 
they  are  the  most  beautiful  I  have  seen  in 
New  York." 

'*  Irene,  the  man  or  woman  who  is  imp'ervi- 
ou9  to  the   subtle,  spiritualizinp  influence  of 
flowers,  may  feel  assured  that   tin  re  is  some-  ; 
thing  lamentably  amiss   in   <'ither  his  or  her  ■ 
organization  or  habits  of  life.     They   weave  i 
rosy   links  of  assoriation   more  binding  than  ' 
steel,   ami    sometimes   of  imali-ulable    value.  ! 
Amid  the  awful  solitude  of  Aljiinc  gl.ieiers,  I  j 
recoUoct  the  thrill  of  pleasure  whieh  the  blue  j 
gentians  caused  me,   as  I  noted  the  fragile  i 
petals  shuddering   upon    the   very    verge   of  1 
fields    of   eternal    snow ;    and    among    cher- 
ished memories  of  the  far  East  ai^  its  .icacias  , 
and  rhododendrons;  tlie  scarlet  poppies  waving  j 
like  a  'mantle  of  blood'  pver  Syrian  valleys,  and 
the  oleander* fringing  the  grey,  gloomy  crags 
and  breathing  their  exquisite  fragrance  over  I 
the  silent  desolation  of  that  grand  city  of  rock  ] 
— immemorial  Petra.     I  liave  remarked  your  I 
fondness  for  flowers  ;  cultivate  it  always;  they 
are  evangels  of  purity  and  faith,  if  we  but  un-  • 
lock  onr  hearts  to  their  ministry.     Callous  and 
sordid  indeed  must  be  that  soul   who  fails  in 
grateful  appreciation  of  gifts  designed  especi- 
ally to  promote  the  happiness  and  adorn   the 
dwellings  of  our  race  ;  lor,  in  attestation  of  this 
truth,  stand  the  huge,  hoary  tomes  of  geology, 
proving  that  the  pre-Adamic  ages  were  com- 
paratively    barren    of    the    gorgeous    flowers 
which  tapestried   the    earth    so   munificently 
just  ere  man  made  his  appearance  on  the  stage. 
A  reverent  student  of  the  rocks,  whosp«'nt  his 
life  in  lisfenirtg  to  the  solemn,  oracular  whispers 
of  their  grand  granite  lips,  that  moved,  Mem- 
non-like,  a«  he  flashed  the  light  of  Revelation 
upon  them,  tells  us  :  '  The  poet  accepte^l  the 
bee  as  a  sign  of  high  significance  ;    the  geolo- 
gist, also,  acce])ts  hvr  as  a  sign.     Ilcr  entomb- 
ed remains  testify  to  the  gradual  fitting  up  of 
our  earth  as  .1  place  of  habitation  for  a  (crea- 
ture cjcstined  to  seek  delight  for  the  mind  and 
eye  as  certainly  as  for  the  grosser  senses,  and 
in  especial  mark   the   inlnxluction    of  stately 
forest  trees  and  the  arrival  of  the  delicious 
flowers.'     A  profound   thinker  and   eloquent 
writer,  who  is  now  doing  a  noble  work  for  his 
generation  by  pointing  it  to  unstained  sources 
of  happiness,  has  said  of  flowers  :    '  They  are 
chalices  of  Divine  workmanship  —  of  purple, 
and  scarlet,  and  liquid  gohl— from  which  man 
is  to  drink  the  j)ure  joy  of  beauty.'     There  is, 
Tou  know,  a  graduated  scale  of  missionary 
work  for  all  created  things;    man  labors  for 
God  and  his  race  througii  deep,   often   tortu-  ■ 
ons,  channels,  and  nature,  all  animate  and   in- 
animate nature,  ministers   in  leebler  yet , still 
heavon-appointcd  processes.     The  trouble  is,  ' 


that,  in  the  rush  and  din  and  •whirl  of  life,  we 
will  not  pause  to  note  these  sermons;  and 
from  year  to  year  the  whispen'd  precepts 
ot'  faith,  hope,  and  charity  fall  on  deaf  cars. 
Nature  is  so  prodigal  of  refining,  elevating 
influences,  and  man  is  so  inaccessible  in  his 
isolating,  inflated  egotism." 

lie  paused,  and  busied  himself  in  cutting  the 
leaves  »tf  a  new  book,  while  Irene  looked  into 
his  calm,  noble  face,  pondering  his  words; 
then  her  eyes  went  back  to  the  bomjuet,  and 
his  dwelt  once  moix*  upon  her. 

"  Irene,  you  look  sober  to-day ;  come,  cheer 
up.  I  don't  want  to  carry  that  grave  expres- 
sion away  with  me.  I  want  to  remember 
your  face  as  I  fir.st  saw  it,  unshadowed." 

"  What  do  you  mean  V  Are  you  going  to 
leave  home  ?" 

"Yes  ;  day  after  to-morrow  I  bid  farewell  to 
New  Y^ork  lor  a  long  time.  I  am  going  to 
the  West  to  take  charge  of  a  church." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Young!  surely  you  are  not  in 
earnest V  You  can  not  intend  to  separate 
yourself  from  your  family  ?" 

She  dropped  her  flowers,  and  leaned  for- 
ward. 

"  Y''es,  I  have  had  it  in  contemplation  for 
more  than  a  year,  ami.  recently,  1  have  de- 
cided to  remove  at  once." 

lie  saw  tlie  great  sorrow  written  in  her 
countenance,  the  quick  ilnttcr  of  her  lip,-  the 
large  drops  that  dimmed  the  violet  eyes  and 
gathered  on  the  long,  golden  lashes,  and  far 
sweeter  than  Eolian  harps  was  the  broken 
voice  : 

"  AVhat  shall  I  do  without  you  ?  who  will 
encourage  and  advise  me  when  you  go?" 

She  leaned  her  forehead  on  her  hands,  an<l 
a  tear  .«lid  down  and  rested  on  her  chin.  The 
sun  was  setting,  and  the  crimson  light  flooding 
the  room  bathed  her  with  glory,  sprea<iing  a 
halo  around  her.  He  hehl  his  breath  and 
gazed  upon  the  drooping  figure  and  bewitch- 
ing face;  and,  in  after  years,  when  his  dark 
hair  had  grown  silvery  gray,  he  remembered 
the  lovely  sun-lit  vision  that  so  entranced  him, 
leaving  an  indelible  image  on  heart  and  brain. 
He  gently  removed  the  hands,  and  holding 
them  in  his  said,  in  the  measured,  low  tone  «0 
indicative  of  suppressed  emotion  : 

'•  Irene,  my  friend,  you  attach  too  much 
importance  to  the  aid  which  I  might  render 
TOU.  You  know  your  duty,  and  I  feel  assured 
will  not  require  to  be  reminded  of  it.  Hence- 
Ibrth  our  paths  diverge  widely.  I  go  to  a 
distant  section  of  our  land,  there  to  do  my 
Father's  work  ;  and,  ere  long,  having  con- 
eluded  the  prescribed  course,  you  will  return 
to  your  Southern  home  and  take  the  position 
.'issigned  you  in  society.  Thus,  in  all  human 
prohability,  we  shall  meet  no  more,  for " 

"  Oh,  sir  !  don't  say  that ;  you  ^v'ill  come 
back  to  visit  your  family,  and  theu^I  shall  see 
you." 

'*  That  is  scarcely  probable,  but  we  will  not 


MACARIA. 


51 


discuss  it  now.  There  is,  however,  a  channel 
of  communication  for  separated  fi'icnds,  and 
of  this  we  must  avail  ourselves.  I  shall  write 
to  you  from  western  wilds,  and  letters  from 
you  will  most  pleasantly  ripple  the  monoto- 
nous life  I  expect  to  lead.  This  is  the  last 
opportunity  I  shall  have  to  speak  with  you  ; 
let  me  flo  so  freely,  just  as  I  would  to  Louisa. 
You  are  yoiing,  and  rather  peculiarly  situated; 
and  sometimes  I  fear  that,  in  the  ijreat  social 
vortex  awaiting  you,  constant  temptation  and 
frivolous  associations  will  stifle  the  noble  im- 
pulses nature  gave  to  guide  you.'  As^ou  grow 
older  you  will  more  fully  comprenend  my 
meaning,  and  find  that  there  are  social  prob- 
lems which  every  true-hearted  man  and  wo- 
man should  earnestly  strive  to  solve.  These 
will  gradually  unfold  themselves  as  the  web  of 
time  unravels  before  you.  You  will  occupy 
an  elevated  stand-point  of  vicAv,  and  you  must 
take  care  that,  unlike  the  great  mass  of  man- 
kitid,  you  do  not  grow  callous,  turning  a  deaf 
ear  to  the  cry  '  the  lahorem  are  few.^  '  It  is 
not  woman's  place  to  obtrude  herself  in  the 
pulpit  or  harangue  from  the  rostrum  ;  such  an 
abnormal  course  levels  the  distinctions  which 
an  all-wise  (iod  established  between  the  sexes, 
but  the  aggregate  of  her  usefulness  is  often 
greater  than  man's.  Irene,  I  want  you  to 
wield  the  vast  influence  your  Maker  has  given 
you  nobly  and  for  His  glory.  Let  your  un- 
obtrusive yet  tconsistent,  resolute,  unerring 
conduct  leave  its  impress  for  good  wherever 
you  are  known.  I  would  not  have  you  debar 
yourself  from  a  single  avenue  of  pure  enjoy- 
ment ;  far  from  it.  Monkish  asceticism  and 
puritanic  bigotry  I  abhor ;  but  there  is  a 
happy  medium  between  the  wild  excesses  of 
so-called  fashionable  life  and  the  strait-laced 
rigidity  of  narrow-minded  phariseeism ;  and 
this  I  would  earnestly  entreat  you  to  select. 
To  discover  and  adhere  to  this  medium  path 
is  almost  as  difficult  as  to  skip  across  the 
Arabic  Al-Sirat,  of  which  we  read  last  week. 
Ultraism  is  the  curse  of  our  race,  as  exempli- 
fied in  all  departments  of  society  ;  avoid  it, 
dear  child ;  cultivate  enlarge.d  views  of  life, 
suppress  selfishness,  and  remember  that  charity 
is  the  key-st^ne  of  Christianity." 

•'  I  have  not  the  strength  wiiich  you  impute 
to  me." 

"  Then  seek  it  from  the  Everlasting  source." 

"  I  do,  but  God  does  not  1 

"You  are  too  easily  dishti  strive  to 

be  faithful  and  He  will  aid  vou,  brace  you,  up- 
hold you.  Will  it  be  any  comfort  for  you  to 
know  that  I  remember  y6u  in  my  prayers, 
that  I  constantly  bear  your  natne  on  my  lips 
to  the  throne  of  grace  'i" 

"  Oh,  yes !  very  great  comfort.  Thank  you, 
thank  you  ;  will  you  always  pray  for  me  ?  If 
I  thought  so  it  would  make  me  happier." 

"Then  rest  a.ssured  that  I  always  shall; 
and,  Irene,  when  sorrows  come  upon  you,  for 
come  they  must  to  all,  do  not  forget  that  you 


have  at  least  one  firm,  faithful  friend,  waiting 
and  anxious  to  aid  you  by  every  means  in  his 
jjower." 

Disengaging  her  fingei*s,  which  still  clasped 
his  tightly,  ho  moved  his  chair  backward  and 
took  a  small  blank  book  from  his  pocket,  sayijig : 

"You  once  asked  me  to  give  you  a  cat- 
alogue of  those  works  which  I  thought  it. ad- 
visable' for  you  to  study,  before  you  plunged 
into  miscellaneous  reading.  Such  a  ]ist  you 
will  find  here,  and  my  experience  has  enabled 
me  to  classify  them  so  as  to  save  you  some  of 
the  trouble  which  I  had  at  your  age.  In 
examining  it,  you  will  see  that  I  have  given 
prominence  to  the  so-called  'Natural  Sci- 
ences.' As  these  furnish  data  for  almost  all 
branches  of  investigation  now-a-day  (there 
.being  a  growing  tendency  to  argm'.  from  the 
analogy  of  physics),  you  can  not  too  thorough- 
ly actpiaint  yourself  with  all  that  appertains 
to  the  subj^'ct.  The  writings  of  Humboldt, 
Hugh  Miller,  Cuvier,  and  Agassiz  constitute 
a  thesaurus  of  scientific  information  essential 
to  a  correct  appreciation  of  the  questions 
now  agitating  the  thinking  world;  and -as 
you  proceed,  you  will  find  the  wonderful 
harmony  of  creation  unfolding  itself,  proclaim- 
ing, in  unmistakable  accents,  that  the  works 
of  God  '  are  good.'  As  time  rolls  on,  the  great 
truth  looms  up  colossal,  '  Science  and  Christi- 
anity arc  hand-maids,  not  antagonists.'  Irene, 
remember  : 

• 

•'A  pagan  kissing  for  a  Btop  of  Pnn. 
The  wiLJ  goal's  hoof-print  on  tlio  loauiy  down, 
ExccimIs  our  nioilein  thinker  who  tnrns  back 
Tlie  strata — granite,  limestone,  coal,  anil  clay, 
Concluding  coldly  with  'Here  "s  liiwl  irheru  's  God  f" 

"Can't  you  stay  longer  and  talk  to  me  ?" 
said  Irene,  as  he  gave  the  blank  book  to  her 
and  rose. 

"No,  I  promised  lo  address  the Street 

Sabbath  school  childVen  to-night,  and  must 
look  over  my  notes  before  I  go."  He  glanced 
at  his  watch,  smiled  pleasantly,  and  left  her. 

The  following  day  was  dreary  to  all  in  that, 
dwelling ;  Mrs.  Young  went  from  room  to 
room,  collecting  various  articles  belonijinn'  to 
her  soi>,  making  no  effort  to  conceal  the 
tears  tiiat  rolled  constantly  over  her  cheeks  ; 
and  now  and  then  Louisa's  sobs  broke  the 
sad  silence.  Harvey  was  engaged  in  the 
library  pacJcing  his  books,  and  Irene  saw  him 
no  more  till  after  tea.  Then  he  came  up 
with  his  mother,  and  kindly  inquired  concern- 
ing her  arm.  He  saw  that  she  .shared  the 
distress  of  the  family,  and,  glancing  over  his 
shoulder  at  his  mother,  he  said,  laughingly  : 

"  She  looks  too  doleful  to  be  left  here  alone 
all  the  evening.  Can't  we  contrive  to  take 
her  down  stairs  to  the  sitting-room?  What 
think  you,  mother?" 

"  Let  her  decide  it  herself.  Shall  Harvey 
take  you  down,  my  dear  ?  It  is  his  last  even- 
ing at  home,  you  know."  Her  voice  faltered 
as  she  spoke. 


MACARIA. 


''I  should  liko  to  join  you  all  at  prayer  once 
more,  and  I  think  I  could  walk  down  slowly, 
with  a  little  lielj).  Suppose  you  let  me  try  V 
I  walke^l  a  few  steps  yesterday,  by  pushing  a 
chair  before  me." 

"JBc  very  careful  not  to  strain  your  foot." 
She  wrapped  a  liiiht  shawl  around  the  girl's 
shouhlers,  and  k*aninfx  on  the  minister's  arm, 
she  limped  to  the  head  of  the  stairs;  but  he 
saw,  fropi  the  wrinkle  on  her  forehead,  that 
the  elT'oht  pave  her  pain,  and  takintr  her  in  his 
arms  as  if  she  were  an  infant,  he  replaced  her 
in  the  chair. 

"I  .see  it  will  not  do  to  carry  you  down  yet. 
You  arc  not  strong  enough,  and,  beside,  you 
ought  to  be  asleep.  .Irene,  would  you  like  for 
me  to  read  and  pray  with  you  before  I  say 
good-by  /" 

"Yes,  sir;  it  would  give  me  great  pleasure." 

Mrs.  Young  drew  the  candle-stand  and 
bible  from  its  corner,  and  taking  a  seat  near 
the  arm  chair,  Harvey  turned  over  the 
leaves  and  slowly  read  the  sixty-tliird  and 
sixty-fourth  chapters  of  Isaiah.  His  voice 
was  low  and  sweet  as  a  woman's,  and  the 
calm  lofty  brow  on  which  the  light  gleamed 
was  smooth  and  fair  as  a  child's,  bearing  no 
foot-prints  of  the  thirty  years  that  had  crept 
over  it.  When  the  reading  was  concluded, 
he  knelt  and  prayed  fervently  for  the  girl  who 
sat  with  her  face  hidden  in  her  arms;  prayed 
that  she  might  be  guided  by  the  Almighty 
hand  into  paths  of  peace  and  usefulness;  that 
she  might  be  strengthened  to  do  the  work 
required  of  Iier.  There  was  no  unsteadi- 
ness in  his  tone,  no  trace  of  emotion,  when 
he  cniled  his  ])rayer  and  sTood  uj)  before 
her.  Irene  was  deeply  moved,  and  when 
she  essayed  to  thank  him,  found  it  impossible 
to  pronounce  her  words.  Tears  were  gliding 
down  her  cheeks;  lie  put  back  the  hair,  and 
taking  the  face  softly  in  his  palms,  looked 
long  and  earnestly  at  its  fascinating  beauty. 
Tlie  great  glistening  blue  eyes  gazed  into  his, 
and  the  silky  lashes  and  rich  scarlet  lips 
trembled.  He  felt  the  hot  blood  surging  like 
a  lava-tide  in  his  veins,  and  his  heart  rising  in 
fierce  rebellion  at  the  slen  interdict  whirh 
he  saw  fit  to  lay  upon  it ;  but  no  token  of  all 
this  came,  to  the  cool,  (;ahu  surface. 

"  Good-by,  Irene.  May  God  bless  you,  my 
dear  little  friend  !" 

He  drcnv  the  face  close  to  his  own  as  though 
he  would  have  kissed  her,  but  forbore,  and 
merely  raising  her  hands  to  his  lips,  turjied 
and  left  the  room.  Verily,  greater  is  "he  that 
ruletii  his  own  spirit  than  he  that  taketh  a 
city."  He  left  before  breakfast  the  ensuing 
morning,  bearing  his  secret  with  him,  having 
(»iTen  no  intimation,  by  word  or  look,  of  the 
struggle  which  his  resolution  cost  him.  Once 
his  mother  had  fancied  that  he  felt  more  than 
a  friendly  interest  in  their  guest,  but  the  ab- 
solute repos(i  of  his  lountenance  and  grave  se- 
renity of  his  manner  duri   ^  the  last  week  of 


his  stay  dispersed  all  her  su-^pioions.  From  a 
luxurious  home,  fond  friends,  and  the  girlish 
face  he  loved  better  than  his  life,  the, minister 
went  forth  to  his  distant  post,  oftering  in  sacri- 
fice to  God,  u)>on  the  altar  of  duty,  his  throb- 
bing heart  and  hopes  of  earthly  hajtpiness. 

A  cloud  of  sadness  settled  on  the  household 
after  his  departure,  and  scarcely  less  than 
Louisa's  was  Irene's  silent  grief.  The  con- 
finement grew  doubly  irksome  when  his  voice 
and  step  had  passed  from  the  threshold,  and 
she  looked  forward  impatiently  to  her  release. 
The  sprain  proved  more  serious  than  she  had 
at  first  imagined,  and  the  summer  vacation  set 
in  before  she  was  able  to  walk  with  ease.  Mr. 
Huntingdon  had  been  apprised  of  her  long  ab- 
sence from  school,  and  one  day,  when  she  was 
j-autiously  trying  her  strength,  he  arrived, 
without  having  premonition  of  his  visit.  As 
he  took  her  in  his  arms  and  marked  the  altera- 
tion in  her  thin  face,  the  listlessness  of  her 
manner,  the  sorrowful  gravity  Of  her  counte- 
nance, his  fears  were  fully  aroused,  and,  hold- 
ing her  to  his  heart,  he  exclaimed  : 

"  My  daughter  !  my  beauty  !  I  must  take 
you  out  of  New  York." 

"  Yes,  father,  take  me  home ;  do  take  me 
home."  She  clasped  her  arms  round  his  neck 
and  nestled  her  face  close  to  his.  • 

"  !Not  yet,  queen.  We  will  go  to  the  Cats- 
kill,  to  Lake  George,  to  Niagara.  A  few 
weeks  travel  will  invigorate  you.  I  have 
written  to  Hugh  to  meet  us  at  ]\iontreal ;  he  ia 
with  a  gay  party,  and  you  shall  have  a  royal 
time.  A  pri'tty,j)iece  of  business,  truly,  that 
you  can't  anmse  yourself  in  any  other  way 
than  by  breaking  half  the  bones  in  your  body." 

"  Father,  I  would  rather  go  home.  Oh !  I 
am  so  tired  of  this  city,  so  sick  of  that  board- 
ing-school. Do,  please,  let  me  ga  back  with 
you." 

"  Oh,  nonsense,  Irene.  Lift  up  your  sleeve 
and  let  me  see  your  arm;  stretch  it  out;  all 
right,  I  believe  ;  straight  enough.  You  were 
walking  just  now  ;  how  is  your  foot  ?" 

"Almost  well,  I  think;  occasionally  I  have 
a  twinge  of  pain  when  1  bear  my  whole  weight 
on  it." 

"  IJe  sure  you  do  not  over-tax  it  for  a  while. 
By  Monday  you  will  be  able  to  start  to  Sara- 
toga. Your  aunt  sc-nt  a  trunk  of  clothing, 
and,  by  the  way,  here  is  a  letter  from  her  and 
oui^  from  Arnold.  The  doctor  worries  con- 
siderably about  you  ;  is  afraid  you  will  not  be 
properly  attended  to."  » 

'J'lius  the  summer  programme  was  determin- 
ed without  any  reference  to  the  wishes  of  the 
one, most  concerned,  jind,  knowing  her  father's 
disposition,  she  siK-ntly  acquiesced.  After 
much  persuasion,  Mr.  Huntingdon  prevailed 
on  Louisa's  parents  to  allow  her  to  accompany 
them.  The  mother  consented  very  reluctant- 
ly, and  on  the  ap|)ointed  day  the  party  set  off 
for  .Saratoga.  The  change  was  eminently 
beneficial,  and  before  they  reached  Canada 


MACARIA. 


5S 


Irene    seemed  perfectly  restored.     But   licr  | 
father  was  not  satisfied.     Her  unwonted  taci-  i 
tih-nity  annoyed  and  puzzled  him ;  he  knew  \ 
that  beneatli  the  calm  surface  some    strong  | 
under-current  rolled  swiftly,  and  he  racked  his 
brain  to  discover  what  had  rendered  Tier  so  re-  j 
served.     Louisa's  joyous,  elastic  spirits  proba-  j 
bly  heighttined  the  effect  of  her  companion's  i 
gravity,  and  the  contrast  daily  presented  could  1 
not  fail  to  arrest  Mr.  Huntingdon's  attention. 
On  arriving  at  Montreal  the  girls  were  left  for 
a  few  moments  in  the  parlor  of  the  hotel,  while 
Mr.  Huntingdon  went  to  register  their  names. 
Irene  and  Louisa  stood  by  the  window  looking 
out  into  the  street,  when  a  happy,  ringing 
voice  exclaimed  : 

"  Here  you  are,  at  last,  Irie  !  I  caught  a 
glimpse  of  your  curls  as  you  passed  the  dining- 
room  door." 

She  turned  to  meet  her  cousin  and  held  out 
her  .hand. 

"  Does  your  majesty  suppose  I  shall  be  sat- 
isfied with  the  tip.''  of  your  fingers?  Pshaw, 
Irie  !  I  will  have  my  kiss." 

He  threw  his  arm  round  her  shoulder,  drew 
down  the  shielding  hands,  and  kissed  her  twice. 

"  Oh,  Hugh  1  behave  youi-self !  Miss  Lou- 
isa Young,  my  cousin,  Hugh  Seymour." 

He  bowed,  and  shook  hands  with  the  stran- 
ger, then  seized  his  cousin's  fingers  and  fixed 
his  fine  .eyes  affectionately  upon  her. 

"  It  seems  an  age  since  I  saw  you,  Irie. 
Come,  sit  down  and  let  me  look  at  you  ;  how 
stately  you  have  grown,  to  be  sure !  More 
like  a  queen  than  ever;  absolutely  two  inches 
taller  since  you  entered  boarding-school.  Irie, 
I  am  so  glad  to  see  you  again  I"  He  snatched 
up  a  handful  of  curls  and  drew  tliem  across 
his  lips,  careless  of  what  Louisa  might  think." 

"  Thank  you,  Hugh.  I  am  quite  as  glad  to 
gee  you."  , 

"  Oh,  humbug !  I  know  better.  You  wouh  I 
rather  sec  Paragon  any  day,  ten  to  one.  j 
will  kill  that  dog  yet,  and  shoot  Erebu?,  too  ; 
see  if  I  don't!  then  maybe  you  can  think  of 
somebody  else.  When  you  are  glad  you  show 
it  in  your  eyes,  and  now  they  are  as  still  as  vio- 
lets under  icicles.  I  think  you  might  love 
me  a  little,  at  least  as  much  as  a  do^." 

"  Hush  I  I  do  love  you,  but  I  dffn't  choose  to 
tell  it  to  everybody  in  Montreal." 

Mr.  Huntingdon's  entrance  diverted  the 
conversation,  and  irene  was  glad  to  escape  to 
her  own  room. 

"  Your  cousin  seems  to  We  very  fotfd  of  you," 
observed  Louisa,,  as  she  unbraided  her  hair. 

"  He  Is  very  impulsive  and  demonstrative, 
that  is  all." 

"  How  handsome  he  is  !" 

"  Do  you  think  so,  really  ?  Take  care,  Lou- 
isa!  I  will  tell  him,  and,  by  way  of  crushing 
his  vanity,  add  ^de  (justibus,  etc.,  etc.,  etc."  " 

"  How  old  is  he?" 

"In  his  twentieth  year." 

From   that   time  tho  cousins  were  thrown 


constantly  together ;  wherever  they  went 
Hugh  took  charge  of  Irene,  while  Mr.  Hun- 
tingdon gave  his  attention  to  Louisa.  But  the 
eagle  eye  was  upon  his  daughter's  movements  ; 
he  watched  her  countenance,  weighed  her 
words,  tried  to  probe  her  heart.  Week  after 
week  he  found  nothing  tangible.  Hugh  was 
gay,  careless ;  Irene  equable,  but  reserved. 
Finally  they  turned  their  faces  homeward, 
and  in  October  found  themselves  once  more 
in  New  York.  Mr.  Huntingdon  prepared  to 
return  South  and  Hugh  to  sail  for  Europe, 
while  Irene  remained  at  the  hotel  until  the 
morning  of  her  cousin's  departwre. 

A  ])rivate  parlor  adjoined  the  room  she  oc- 
cupied, and  here  he  c;tuic  to  say  farewell. 
Siie  knew  that  he  had  already  had  a  long  con- 
versation with  her  father,  and  as  he  threw  ■liim- 
self  on  the  sofa  and  seized  one  of  her  hands, 
she  instinctively  shraidc  from  him. 

"Irene,  here  is  my  miniature.  I  wanted, 
ygu  to  ask  for  it,  but  I  see  that  you  won't  do 
it.  I  know  very  well  that  you  will  not  value 
it  one-thousandth  part  as  much  as  I  do  your 
likeness  here  on  my  watch-chain  ;  but  perhaps 
it  will  remind  you  of  me  sometimes.  How  I 
shall  want  to  see  you  before  I  come  home ! 
YovC  know  you  belong  to  m$.  LTncle  gave  you 
to  me,  and  when  I  come  back  from  Europe  we 
will  be  married.  We  are  both  very  young,  I 
know ;  but  it  has  been  settled  so  long.  Irie, 
my  beauty,  I  wish  you  would  love  me  more  ; 
you  are  so  cold.     Won't  you  try  '?" 

He  leaned  down  to  kiss  her,  but  she  turned 
her  face  hastily  away  and  ansvvered,  resolutely  : 

"  No,  I  can't  love  you  other  than  as  my 
cousin ;  I  would  not,  if  I  could.  I  do  not 
think  it  would  be  right,  and  I  won't  promise  to 
try.  Father  has  no  right  to  give  me  to  you,  or 
to  anybody  else.  I  tell  you  now  I  belong  to 
myself,  and  only  I  can  give  myself  away. 
•Hugh,  I  don't  consider  this  settled  at  all.  You 
ijiiglit  as  well  know  the  truth  at  once  ;  I  have 
some  voice  in  the  matter." 

Mr.  Huntingdon  had  evidently  prepared 
him  for  something  of  this  kind  on  her  part, 
and,  though  his  face  llushed  angrily,  he  took  no 
notice  of  the  remonstrance. 

"  I  shall  write  to  you  frequently,  and  I  hope 
that  you  will  be  punctual  in  replying.  Irie, 
give  me  your  left  hand  just  a  minute  ;  wear 
this  ring  till  I  come  back,  to  remind  you  that 
you  have  a  cousin  across  the  ocean." 

He  tried  to  force  the  flashinj;  jewel  on  her 
slender  finger,  but  she  resisted,  and  rose,  strug- 
gling to  withdraw  her  hand.  J 

"  No,  no,  Hugh  !  I  can't;  I  won't.  I  know 
very  well  what  that  ring  means,  and  I  can  not 
accept  it.  Release  my  hand  ;  I  tell  you  I  won't 
wear  it." 

"  Come.  Hugh;  you  have  not  a  moment  to 
spare  ;  the  carriage  is  waiting."  Mr.  Hnn- 
tmgdon  threw  open  the  door,  having  heard 
every  word  that^assed.  Hugh  dropped  the 
ring  iu  his  vest-^itkw^  and  rose. 


34 


MAC  ARIA. 


"  Well,  Irie,  I  suppose  I  must  bid  you  fare- 
well. Two  or  three  years  will  chanjre.  you, 
my  dearest  liftle  cousin.  Gootl-by  ;  think  of 
me  now  and  then,  and  learn  to  love  me  by  the 
time  I  come  home." 

She  suHered  him  to  take  both  her  bands 
and  ki«s  her  terderfy,  lor  her  fatlier  stood 
there  and  she  could  not  refuse  ;  but  the  todcb 
of  his  lips  burned  lonj;  after  he  Had  gone. 
She  puton  her  bonnet,  and,  when  herfatherre- 
turned  from  the  steamer,  they  entered  the  car^ 
riage  which  was  to  convey  her  to  tlie  dreary, 
dreaded  school.  As  th(M"  rolled  alon";  Broad- 
way Mr.  Huntinjrdon  coolly  took  her  hand  and 
placed  Hugh's  ring  upon  it,  saying,  authorita- 
tively : 

"  ilugh  told  me  you  refused  to  accept  his 
parting  gift,  and  seemed  much  hurt  about  it. 
There  is  no  reason  why  you  should  not  wear 
it,  and  in  future  I  do  not  wish  to  see  you 
without  it.     Reniembcr  this,  my  daughter." 

"  Father,,  it  is  wrong  lor  me  to  wear  it,  un- 
less I  expected  to ." 

"I  understand  the  whole  matter  perfectly. 
Now,  Irene,  let  me  hear  no  more  about  it.  I 
wish  you  would  learn  that  it  is  a  child's  duty 
to  obey  her  parent.  No  more  words,  if  you 
please,  on  the  subject." 

She  felt  that  this  was  not  the  hour  •for  re- 
sistance, and  wisely  forbore;  but  he  saw  re^ 
bellion  written  in  the  calm,  fi.\ed  eye,  and  read 
it  in  the  curved  lines  of  the  full  up])er  lip. 
She  ha<l  entreated  him  to  take  her  home,  and. 
ipnly  the  night  before,  renewed  her  pleadings. 
But  his  refusal  was  positive,  and  now  she  went 
back  to  the  hated  school  without  a  visible  to- 
ken of  regret.  She  saw  her  trunks  consigned 
to  the  porter,  listened  to  a  brief  conversation 

between  Dr. and  her  fatlier,  and,  after 

a  hasty  embrace  and  half-dozen  words,  watch- 
ed the  tall,  soldierly  form  re-enter  the  <-ar- 
riage.  Tljcn  she  went  slowly  up  the  bros»* 
8tairw*y  to  her  cell-like  room,  and  with  dl^* 
eves  unpa(.'ked  her  clothes,  locked  up  the  ring 
in  her  jewelry-box,  and  prepared  to  resume 
her  studies. 

The  starry  veil  concealing  the  Holy  of  Ho- 
lies of  her  Futurity  had  swayed  just  once,  and 
as  (juickly  swejit  back  toils  wonted  folds  ;  but 
in  that  one  swift  glan(,'e  she  saw,  instead  of 
hovering  Cherubim,  gaunt  spectres,  woful,  ap- 
palling as  Brimo.  At  some  period  of  life  all 
have  this  dim,  transient,  tantalizing  glimpse 
of  the  inexorable  Tin-ee,  the  mystic  Moine, 
weaving  with  steely  fingers  the  unyielding 
web  of  human  destiny.  Some  grow  cowardly, 
jjtriving  to  wend  their  way  bcliind  or  beyond 
the  out-spread  net- work,  tripping,  at  last,  in 
the  midst  of  the  snare;  and  some,  with  set 
teeth  and  rigid  limbs,  scorning  to  dodge  the 
issue,  grapple  with  the  Sisters,  resolve<l  to 
wrench  the  cunniug  links  asunder,  trusting 
solely  to  the  palla<iium  of  Will.  Irene's  little 
feet  had  become  entangled  in  the  fatal  threads, 
and,  with  no  thought  of  flight,  she  meiisured 


the  length  and  breadth  of  the  web,  nerving 
heruelf  to  battle  till  the  death. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

A  halo  seems  to  linger  around  the  haunts  « 
of  Genius,  a.s  though  the  outer  physical  world 
shaped  itself  in  likeness  to  the  Ideal,  and  at 
the  door  of  Mr.  Clifton's  studio,  crude,  matter- 
of-fact  utilitarians  shouhl  have  "  put  off  their 
shoes  from  their  feet"  befjare  treatling  pre- 
cincts sacred  to  Art.  It  was  a  long,  lofty, 
narrow  room,  with  a  grate  at  one  end,  and 
two  windows  at  the  other,  opening  on  the 
street.  The  walls  wercstaineil  of  a  pale  olive 
htTe,  and  the  floor  was  covered  with  a  carpet- 
of  green,  embroidered  with  orange  sheaves  of 
wheat.  In  color,  the  morocco -cushioned 
chair;^  and  sofas  matched  it  well,  and  from 
the  broad,  massive  cornice  over  the  windows 
— cornice  representing  writhing  serpents  in 
clusters  of  oak  leaves — folds  of  golden-llowered 
brocatel  hung  stiil"  and  stately  to  the  floor. 
The  ceiling  rose  dome-like  in  the  centre,  and 
here  a  skylight  ])oured  down  a  flood  of  radi- 
ance on  sunny  days,  and  furnished  a  faintW 
tattoo  when  rain-drops  rattled  oTcr  its  ])anes. " 
Crowdijd  as  the  most  ancient  catacombs  of 
Thebes  was  this  atelier,  but  with  a  trille  less 
ghostly  tenants.  Plaster  statues  loomed  up  in 
the  corners,  bronze  busts  and  marble  .v.'a/Me//es 
crowned  mantle  and  sundry  tables  and  wood- 
en pedestals;  (juaint  antique  vasis  of  china, 
crystal,  alabaster,  terra-cotta,  and  wood  dark 
as  ebony  with  age  and  j)olished  like  glass, 
stood  here  and  there  in  a  sort  of  well-estab- 
lished regular  irregularity,  as  if  snatched  from 
the  ashy  shroud  of  Hercnlaneum  and  put 
down  hastily  in  the  jirst  convenient  place. 
An  P^truscan  va,se,  time  and  lichen-stained, 
■"was  made  the  base  for  an  untrained  piece  of 
canvas,  which  leaned  back  against  thi;  wall ; 
and  another,  whose  handles  were  Medusa- 
heads,  and  before  which,  doubtless,  some 
Italian  maiden,  in  the  palmy  days  of  Rome, 
had  stood  twining  the  feathery  sprays  of  blos- 
.sonis  whose  intoxicating  perfume  might  still 
linger  in  ita  marble  depths,  was  now  the  des- 
ecrated '  receptacle  of  a  meerschaum  and 
riding-whip.  The  walls  were  tapestried  with 
])aintings  of  all  sizes,  many  richly  framed,  one 
or  two  covered  with  glass,  and  so  dark  as  to 
l)ass,  without  close  examinatioB,  for  a  faithful 
representation  of  Pliaraoh's  ninth  •  plague  ; 
some  lying  ludplessly  on  the  olive  back-ground, 
others  leaning  from  the  wail  at  an  acute  angle, 
looking  tin-eatening,  as  if  fiery  souls  had  en- 
tered and  stirred  ui)tht,>  figures — among  which 
Deianira,  bending  forward  with  jealous  rage 
to  scan  the  lovely  Jole,  destined  to  prove  the 
Ate  of  her  house.  Where  a  few  feet-of  pale 
green  would  have  peered  forth  between  large 
pictures,   crayon   sketches   were  suspended ; 


MACARIA. 


56 


and  on  the  top  of  more  than  one  carved  frame 
perched  stuiFed  birds  of  trorireous  tropical 
hues,  a  mimic  aviary,  motionless  and  silent  as 
if  Perseus  had  stepped  into  a  choral  thron|x 
and  held  upithe  Gorgon's  head.  lu  the  centre 
of  the  room,  under  the  skylight,  stood  the 
artist's  easel,  holding  an  unfinished  picture, 
and  over  its  face  was  drawn  a  piece  of  black 
silk.  Farther  otT  was  anotlier  easel,  smaller, 
and  here  "VMfis  the  dim  outline  of  a  female 
head  traced  by  the  fair,  slender  fingers  of  a 
tyro.  It  was  late  October;  a  feeble  liame 
flickered  in  tlie  grate;  on  the  rug  crouched  cin 
English  spaniel,  creeping  closer  as  the  heat 
died  out  and  the  waning  liglit  of  day  grad- 
ually receded,  leaving  the  room  dusky,  save 
where  a  slanting  line  of  yellow  quivered  down 
from  the  roof  and  gilt  the  folds  of  black  silk. 
At  one  of  the  windows  stood  Electra,  half 
concealed  by  the  heavy  green  and  gold  dra- 
pery, one  dimpled  hand  clinging  to  the  cur- 
tains, tiie  other  pressed  against  tlie  jianes,  as 
she  watched  the  forms  hurrying  along  the 
street  below.  The  gas  was  already  ligiited 
on  the  crowded  higliways  of  the-  great  city, 
and  the  lamp  just  beneath  the  window  glared 
up  like  an  electric  eye.  She  was  dressed  in 
half-mourning,  in  sober  gray,  with  a  black 
crape  collar  at  the  tliroat.  "  There  is  no  ex- 
quisite beauty  without  some  strangeness  in 
tlie  proportions,"  says  Baron  Verulam ;  and 
the  strangeness  of  Eleetra's  countenance  cer- 
tainly lay  in  the  unusual  width  between  the 
eye-brows.  Wliatever  significance  leai'ned 
phrenologists  or  physiognomists  attacli  to  this 
peculiarity,  at  all  events  it  im])arted  piquancy 
to  the  features  tliat  I  am  striving  to  show  you 
by  that  flaming  gas-light.  Her  watching  at- 
titude denotetl  anxiety,  and  the  bloom  on  her 
cheek  had  faded,  leaving  the  whole  face  color- 
less. The  lower  lip  was  drawn  under  and 
held  hard  and  fight  by  the  pearly  teeth,  while 
the  wide-strained  eyes — 

"Sliiniiigr  ejfi  like  antique  Jewels  set  in  Parian  statuc- 
•toiio" —  • 

searched  every  face  that  passed  the  window 
"  That  hope  deferred  makethUhe  heart  sick,'' 
she  stood  there  in  attestation  ;  yet  it  was  not 
passive  sorrow  printed  on  her  countenance — 
rither  the  momentary,  breathless  exhaustion 
of  a  wild  bird  beating  out  its  life  in  useless 
conflict  with  the  unyielding  wires  of  its  cage. 
The  dying  hope,  the  despairing  dreads  in  that 
fair  young  face,  beggars  language,  and  as  the 
minutes  <rept  by  the  words  burst  from  her 
lips  :   *'  Will  he  never,  never  come  ! ' 

For  three  weeks  she  had  received  no  letter 
from  Russell;  he  was  remarkably  ])un<'tual, 
and  this  long,  unprecedented  interval  filled 
her,  at  first,  witli  vague  uneasiness,  which 
grew  finally  into  horrible  foreboding.  For 
ten  days  slie  liid  stood  at  tin's  hour,  at  the 
same  window,  waiting  for  Mr.  Clifton's  return 
from   tlie  post-oflicc.      Ten  times   the   words 


"  No  letter"  had  fallen,  like  the  voice  of  doom, 
on  her  throbbing  heart.  '-No  letter!'' — she 
heard  it  in  feverish  dreams,  and  fled  continu- 
ally from  its  hissing.  Only  those  who  have 
known  what  it  is  to  stake  their  hopes  on  a 
sheet  of  letter-paper;  to  wake  at  dawn,  count- 
ing tlie  hours,  till  the  mail  is  due,  workitig 
diligently  to  murder  time  till  'that  hour  rolls 
round;  to  send  a  messenger,  in  hot  haste,  to 
Avatch  the  clock,  giving  him  just  so  many 
minutes  to  go  and  come;  to  listen  for  the 
sound  ef  returning  stjps,  to  meet  him  at  the 
door  with  outstretched  hands,  and  receive 
— "no  letter;"  only  those  who  have  writhed 
on  this  rack  know  tlie  crushing  thought  with 
which  thdy  pressed  cold  hands  to  aching 
hearts;  "anotlier  twenty-four  hours  to  be  en- 
dured before  the  next  mail  comes  in;  what 
shall  I  do  till  then?"  These  art>.  the  trials 
that  plough  wrinkles  in  smooth  girlish  brows; 
that  harden  the  outline  of  soft  rosy  lips;  that 
sicken  the  -weary  soul,  and  teach  women 
deception.  Electra  knew  that  ]Mr.  Clifton 
watched  her  narrowly,  suspiciously;  and  be- 
hind the  mask  of  gay  rapid  words,  and  ring- 
ing mirthless  laughter,  she  tried  to  hide  her 
suli'ering.  Ah!  God  pity  all  who  live  from 
day  to  day  hanging  upon  the  brittle  thread  of 
hope.  On  this  eleventh  day  suspense  reached 
its  acme,  and  time  seemed  to  have  locked  its 
wheels  to  lengthen  her  torture.  Mr.  Clifton 
had  been  absent.longer  than  usual;  most  un- 
willingly we  are  sometimes  grand  inquisitors, 
loitering  by  the  way  when  waiting  hearts  are 
secretly,  silently  dropping  blood.  At  last  an 
omnibus  slop])ed,  and  Mr.  Clifton  stepjied 
out,  with  a  bundle  of  papers  under  his  arm. 
Closer  pressed  the  jiallid  face  against  the  glass; 
firmer  grew  the  grasp  of  the  icy  fingers  on  the 
brocatcl ;  she  hatl  no  strength  to  meet  him.  He 
closed  the  door,  hung  up  his  hat,  and  looked 
into  the  studio;  no  fire  in  the  grate,  no  light 
in,  the  gas-globes— ^everything  cold  and  dark 
save  the  reflection  on  that  front  window. 

"Electra!" 

"I  am  here." 

"No  letter." 

She  stood  motionless  a  moment;  but  tho 
brick  walls  o]i])osite,  the  trees,  the  lamp-posts 
spun  round,  like  maple  leaves  in  an  autumn 
gale. 

"  My  owlet !  why  don'f^you  have  a  light  and 
some  fireV"  ' 

He  stumbled  toward  her,  and  put  his  hand 
on  her  shoulder,  but  she  shrank  away,  and, 
lighting  the  gas,  rang  for  coal. 

"There  is  .something  terrible  the  matter; 
Ru.ssell  is  either  ill  or  dead.     .1  must  go  to  him." 

"Nonsense!  sheer  nonsense;  he  is  busy, 
that  is  all.  Your  cousin  has  forgotten  you  for 
the  time;  after  a  while  he  will  write.  You 
are  too  exacting;  young  men  sometimes  find 
constant,  regular  correspondence  a  bore;  a 
letter  every  week  is  too  much  to  expect  of 
hiiu.     Don't  be  childish,  Electra." 


&t> 


MACAIUA. 


As  she  noticed  the  frown-on  his  face,  a  dark  [ 
Buspicion  seized  her;  "perhaps  he  had  inter-  \ 
cepted  her  letters."     Could  he  stoop  to  such 
an  artifice  V 

"  Elcctra,  I  would  try  to  divert  my  mind. 
After  all,  his  letters  are  short,  and,  I  should 
judge,  rather  uusatisfaetory." 

"  What  do  you  know  ol"  the  length  or  con- 
tents of  his  lettereV" 

"I  know  they  are  brief,  because  I  occasion-  I 
ally  see  them  open  in  your  hand;  I  judge  that 
they  are  unsatisfactory  from  the  cloud  ^n  your 
face   whenever  they  come.     But  I   have   no 
disposition  to  contest  the  value  of  his  corre- 
spondence with  you.     That  article  on  chiaro-  ' 
scuro  has  arrived  at  last;  if  ycyii  feel  inclined,  i 
you  can  begin  it  at  once."  j 

Chiaro  -  scuro,  forsooth!  Mockery!  She 
had  quite  chiaroscuro  enoufrh,  and  to  spare ;  ' 
but  the  smile  on  the  artist's  lips  sUiug  her, 
and,  without  a  word,  she  took  a  seat  at  his  j 
side  and  began  to  read.  Page  after  page  was 
turned,  technicalities  slipped  through  her  lips,  | 
but  she  understood  as  little  of  the  essay  as  if 
the  language  had  been  Sanscrit  instead  of 
Saxon;  for,  likt?  the  deep,  undying  murmur  of 
the  restless  sea,  there  rang  in  her  ears,  "No 
letter!  no  letter!"  As  she  finished  the  pam- 
phlet and  threw  it  on  the  table,  her  hands 
dropped  listlessly  in  her  lap.  Mr.  Clifton  was 
trying  to  read  her  count'inanee,  and,  in\p;v- 
tient  of  his  scrutiny,  she  rose  to  seek  her  own 
room.  Just  then  the  door-bell  rang  sharply; 
she  supposed  it  was  some  brother-artist  com- 
ing to  spend  an  hour,  and  turned  to  go. 

.••  Wait  a  minute;  I  want  to -;"  he  paused, 

for  at  that  instant  she  heard  a  voice  which,  even 
amid  the  din  of  Shinar,  would  have  been  un- 
mistakable to  her,  and,  breaking  I'rom  him,  she 
sprang  to  the"  threshold  and  met  her  cousin. 

"  Oh,  Ruaseli !  1  thought  you  had  forgotten 
me." 

"  What  put  such  a  ridiculous  thought  into 
your  head  i  My  last  letter  must  have  pre- 
pared you  to  expect  me." 

"  What  letter  ?  I  have  had  none  for  three 
weeks." 

"One  in  which  I  mentioned  Mr.  Campbell's 
foreign  appointment,  and  the  position  of  sec- 
retary which  he  tendered  me.  Electra,  let 
me  speak  to  Mr.  Clifton." 

As  he  advanced  and  greeted  the  artist  she 
heard  a  quick,  sna])ping  sound,  and  saw  the 
beautiful  Bohemian  glass  ])a|)cr-cutter  her 
guardian  had  been  using  lying,  .shivered  to 
atoms,  on  the  rug.  The  lluted  handle  was 
crushed  in  his  fingers,  and  drops  of  blood  oozed 
over  the  left  hand.  Ere  she  could  allude  to 
it  he  thrust  his  hand  into  his  pocket  and  de- 
sired Russell  to  be  seated. 

"  This  is  a  pleasure  totally  unexpected. 
What  is  the  appointment  of  which  you  spoke  ?" 

"  Mr.  Camj)bell  has  been  appointed  Minister 
to : ,  and  sails  next  week.  I  am  sur- 
prised that  you  have  not  haard  of  it  fi'om  the 


public  journals;  many  of  them  have  spoken  of 
it,  and  warmly  commended  the  selection.  I 
accompany,  him  in  the  capacity  of  secretary, 
and  shall,  meanwhile,  prosecute  my  studies 
under  his  direction." 

The  gray,  glittering  eyes  of  the  artist  sought 
those  of  his  pupil,  and  for  an  instant  hers 
quailed;  but,  rallying,  she  looked  fully,  stead- 
lastly  fit  hint,  resolved  to  play  out  the  game, 
siorning  to  bare  her  heart  to  iiis  scrutiny. 
She  had  fancied  that  Russell's  afl'ection  had 
prompted  this  visit ;  now  it  was  apparent  that 
hk  came  to  New  York  to  take  a  steamer,  not 
to  see  her  ;  to  put  the  stormy  Atlantic  between 
them.  The  foaming  draught  which  she  had 
snatched  to  her  lips  so  eagerly,  so  joyfully, 
was  turning  to  hemlock  as  she  tasted;  and 
though  she  silently  put  the  cup  from  her,  it  was 
done  smilingly;  there  were,  no  wry  faces,  no 
gestures  of  disgust. 

"  New  York  certainly  agrees  with  you,  Elec- 
tra ;  you  have  grown  and  improved  very  much 
since  you  came  North.  I  never  saw  such  color 
in  your  cheeks  before  ;  1  can  scarcely  believe 
that  you  a,re  the  same  fragile  child  1  put  into 
the  stage  one  year  ago.  This  reconciles  mo 
to  having  given  you  up  to  Mr.  Clifton  ;  he  is  a 
better  guardian  than  I  could  have  been.  But 
tell  me  something  more  about  these  new  rela- 
tives you  spoke  of  having  found  here." 

Mr.  Clilton  left  the  room,  and  the  two  sat 
side  by  side  for  an  hour,  talking  of  the  gloomy 
past,  the  flitting  present,  the  uncertain  future. 
Leaning  back  in  his  chair,  with  his  eyes  fixed 
on  the  grate,  Russell  said,  gravely  : 

"  There  is  now  nothing  to  impede  my  suc- 
cessful career ;  obstacles  are  rapidly  meltin<j 
away;  every  day  brings  me  nearer  the  goal  1 
long  since  set  before  me.  In.  two  years  at 
farthest,  perhaps  earlier,  I  shall  return  and 
begin  the  practice  of  law.  Once  ailmitted,  I 
ask  no  more.  Then,  and  not  till  then,  I  hope 
to  save  you  from  the  necessity  of  labor  ;  in  the 
interim,  Mr.  Clifton  will  prove  a  noble  and 
generous  friend;  and  believe  me,  my  cousin, 
llie  thought  of  leaving  you  so  long  is  the  only 
thing  which  will  mar  the  pleasure  of  my  Eu- 
ropean stijourn." 

The  words  were  kind  enough,  but  the  tone 
I  was  indiilerent,  and  the  countenance  showed 
her  that  their  approaching  separation  disqui- 
eted him  little.     She  thought  of  the  sleepless 
I  nights    and   wretched   days   she   had   passed 
j  waitinij  for  a  letter  from  that  tafl,  reserved, 
cold  cousin,  and  her  features  relaxed  in  a  de- 
risive smile  at  the  folly  of  her  all-absorbing 
love,     liaising  his  eyes  accidentally  he  caun[ht 
the  smile,  wondered  what  there  was  to  call  it 
forth  in  the  plans  which  he  had  just  laid  before 
her,  and,  meeting  his  glance  of  surprise,  she 
said,  carelessly : 

"  Are  you  not  going  to  see  Irene  before  you 
sail  V" 

His  clieek  flushed  as  he  rose,  straightened 
himself,  and  answered  :  >■ 


MACARIA. 


61 


"  A  stranj^e  question,  truly,  from  one  who 
knows  me  as  well  as  you  do.  Call  to  gee  a 
girl  whose  father  sent  her  froni  home  solely  to 
prevent  her  from  associating  with  my  family  ? 
Through  what  sort  of  raetfiiaaorphosis  do  you 
suppose  that  I  have  passed,  that-every  spark 
of  self-respect  has  been  crushed  out  of  me  ?" 

"  Her  father's  tyranny  and  selfishness  can 
never  nullify  her  noble  and  ail'ectionatc  re- 
membrance of  Aunt  Amy  in  the  hour  of  her 
need." 

"  And  when  I  am  able  to  repa}^  her  every 
cent  we  owe  her,  then,  and  not  till  then,  I 
wish  to  see  her.  Things  shall  change  ;  rnens 
cuiuaque  is  est  quisque ;  and  the  day  will  com^ 
when  Mr.  Huntingdon  may  not  think  it  •de- 
grading lor  his  daughter  to  acknowledge  my 
accpiaintance  on  the  street." 

A  brief  silence  ensued,  Ilussell  drew  on  his 
gloves,  and  finally  said,  hesitatingly  : 

"  Dr.  Arnold  told  me  she  had  suffered  very 
much  from  a  fall." 

"Yes;  for  a  long  time  she  was  confined  to 
her  room." 

"  Has  she  recovered  entirely  ?" 
"  Entirely.     She  grows  more  beautiful  day 
by  day." 

Perhaps  he  wished  to  hear  uaore  concern- 
ing her,  but  she  would  not  gratify  him,  and, 
soon  after,  he  took  up  his  hat. 

"  Mr.  Clifton  has  a  spfii-e  room,  Russell ;  why 
can't  vou  stav  with  us  while  you  are  in  New 
York'?" 

"  Thank  you ;  but  Mr.  Campbell  will  expect 
me  at  the  hotel ;  I  shall  be  needed,  too,  as  he 
has  many  letters  to  write.  I  will  sec  you  to- 
morrow, and  indeed  every  day  while  I  remain 
in  the  city."  ' 

"  Then  pay  your  visits  in  the  morning,  for  I 
want  to  take  your  portrait  with  mv  own  hands. 
Give  me  a  sitting  as  early  as  possible." 

"  Very  well ;  look  for  me  to-morrow.  Good- 
night." 

Tlie  week  that  followed  was  one  of  strau"fe- 
ly-mingled  sorrows  and  joys;  in  after  years  it 
served  as  a  prominent  land-mark  to  wliich  she 
looked  back  and  dated  sad  changes  in  her 
heart.  Irene  remained  ignorant  of  Russell's 
presence*  in  the  city,  and  at  last  the  day 
dawned  on  which  the  vessel  was  to  sail.  At 
the  breakfast  table  Mr.  Clifton  noticed  the 
colprlessness  of  his  pupil's  face,  but  kindly  ab- 
stained from  any  allusion  to  it.  He  saw  that, 
contrary  to  habit,  she  dranb  a  cup  of  coffee, 
and,  arresting  her  arm  as  she  requested  his 
mother  to  give  her  a  second,  he  said,  gently  : 

"  My  dear  child,  where  did  you  suddenly  find 
such  Turkish  taites  ?  I  thought  you  disliked 
coffee  V" 

"  I  take  it  now  as  medicine.  My  head  aches 
horribly."  ' 

"  Then  let  me  prescribe  for  yoii.  We  will 
go  down  to  the  iteamor  with  Russell,  and  after- 
ward take  a  long  ride  to  Greenwood,  if  you 
like." 


-"  He  said  he  would  call  here  at  ten  o'clock 
to  bid  us  farewell." 

"  N'iinporte.  The  carriage  will  be  ready, 
and  Ave  will  accompany  him." 

At  the  appointed  hour  they  repaired  to  the 
vessel,  and,  looking  at  its  huge  sides,  Electra 
coveted  even  a  deck  passage ;  envied  the 
meanest  who  hurried  about,  making  all  things 
ready  for  departure.  The  last  bell  rang  ; 
people  crowded  down  on  the  planks  ;  Russell 
hastened  back  to  the  carriage  and  took  the 
nerveless  gloved  hand. 

"  I  will  write  as  early  as  possible  ;  don't  bo 
uneasy  about  me  ;  np  accident  has  ever  hap- 
pened on  this  line.  1  am  glad  I  leave  you 
with  such  a  friend  as  Mr.  Clifton.  Good-by, 
cousin;  it  will  not  be  very  long  before  we  meet 
again." 

He' kissed  the  passive  lips,  shook  hands  with 
the  artist,  and  sprang  on  board  just  as  the 
planks  were  withdrau-n.  The  vessel  moved 
majestically  on  its  way  ;  friends  on  shore  Avaved 
handkerLhiefs  to  friends  departing,  and  hands 
Avere  kissed  and  hats  lifted,  and  then  the 
crowd  slowly  dispersed — for  steamers  sail  every 
week,  and  people  become  accustomed  to  the 
spectacle.  But  'to-day  it  Avas  freighted  Avith 
the  last  fond  hope  of  a  deep  and  passionate 
nature  ;  and  as  Electra  gazied  on  the  line  of 
foam  Avhitening  the  dull  surface  of  the  Avater, 
the  short-lived  billoAvs  and  deep  holloAvs  be- 
tAveen  seemed  newly -made  graves,  whose 
hungry  jaws  had  closed  for  ever  over  the  one 
bright  lingering  hope  Avhich  she  had  hugged 
to  her  heart. 

"  Are  you  ready  to  go  now  ?"  asked  Mr. 
Clifton. 

"Yesy.ready,  quite  ready — for  GreenAvood." 

She  spoke  in  atone  Avhich  had  lost  its  liquid 
music,  and  Avith  a  Avintry  smile  that  lied  over 
the  ashy  face,  lending  the  features  "no  light, 
no  AA'armth. 

He  tried  to  divert  her  mind  by  calling  at- 
tention to  various  things  of  interest,  but  the 
utter  exhau.stiou  of  her  position  and  tlie  mono- 
syllabic character  of  her  replies  soon  dis- 
couraged him.  Both  felt  relieved  Avhen  the 
carriage  stopped  before  the  studio,  and  as  he 
-led  her  up  the  steps  he  said,  affectionately : 

"  I  am  afraid  my  prescription  has  not  cured 
your  head." 

"  No,  sir ;  but  I  thank  you  most  sincerely 
for  the  kind  effort  you  have  made  to  relieve 
me.  I  shall  be  better  to-morrow.  Good-by, 
till  then." 

"  Stay,  my  child.  Como  into  the  studio,  and 
let  me  read  something  light  and  pleasant  to 
you." 

"  Not  for  the  universe  !  The  sight  of  a  book 
would  give  me  brain-fever,  I  verily  believe." 

She  tried  unavaifingly  to  shake  off  his  hand.. 

"  Why  do  you  shrink  from  me,  my  pupil  ?" 

"  Because  I  am  sick,  weary  ;  and  you  Avatch 
me  so,  that  I  get  reatlcsa  and  nervous.  Do 
Ut  me  go  !     I  want  to  ileep." 


58 


MACARIA. 


An  impatient  stamp  cjnphasized  the  words,  : 
a»d,  as  lie  relaxed  his  cla^p  ofher  finorprs,  she 
hastened  to  her  room,  aud  locked  the  door  to  , 
prevant  all  intrusion.     Takinij;  olV  her  bonnet,  i 
she  drew  tke  heavv  stiawl  closely  around  her 
shoulders  and  threw  herself  across  the  foot  of 
the  bed,  buryiiifr  her  face  in  her  hands  lest 
the  bare  walls  should  prove  witnesses  of  her  ' 
agony.     Six  hours  later  she   lay   there  still, 
Avith  pale  finirera  pressed  to  burning,  dry  eye- 
lids. ■"    , 

Oh,  bigotry  of  human  nature!     Bj'  what 
hifrh  eommissiou,.  by   what  royal   patent,  (to 
men  and  women  essay  to  judge  of  fellow-men  : 
and   sister-women   by   one  stern,    inexorable 
standard,  unyielding  as  the   measure  of  Da- 
mastes  V     The  variety  of  emotional  and  intel- 
lectual types  is  even  greater  than  the  physical,  ' 
and,  as  the  ages  roll,  we  need  oihor  criteria.  ■ 
Wiio  shall  dare  lay  finger  on  fellow-creature  \ 
and  audaciously  jjroclaiui :  "  I  have  gone  down 
among  the  volcanic  chambers  of  this  soul  and 
groped  in  its  adytum,  amid  the  dust  and  ruins 
of  its  overturned  altars  and  crumbling  idols;  ' 
have  fathomed  its  mystciies,  and  will  !ell  you,  ' 
by   infallible   plummet,    the. depths   thereof."^ 
There  are  sealed  cells,   where,    veiled   from  ' 
scrutiny  and  sacred  as  Eleusinia,  burns  the 
God-given  shechinah  of  the  human  soul.     As  ' 
the  myriad  shells  that  tcssellate  old   ocean's  ; 
pavements,  as  the  vast  army  of  innumerable 
clouds  which    ceaselessly  shift  their  coloring 
and  their  forms  at  the  presto  of  wizard  winds; 
as  the  leaves  of  the  forest  that  bud  and  wane 
in  the  flush  of  summer  or  the  howl  of  wintry 
storms,  so  we  differ  one  from  another.     Liu- 
najus  and  Jussien,  with  niicroscopic  aid,  have 
classified  and  christened ;  but  now  and  then 
new  varieties  startle  modern  suvdns,  and   so  i 
likewise  new  tyj)es  stalk  among  men  and  wo- 
men, whose  elements  will  neither  be  lopijcd 
ofi"  nor   elongated   to  meet   the    established 
measure.  I 


CHAPTER  XII. 

Once  more  the  labors  of  a  twelve-month 
had  been  exhibited  atthe  Academy  of  Design —  ' 
some  to  be  classed  among  things  "  that  were  l 
not  born  to  die  ;"  others  to  fall  into  nameless  ; 
graves.  Many,  who  had  workcMl  faithfully,  re-  ' 
cognizing  the  sacredness  of  theii"  commission, 
had  climl)c(l  higher  in  public  estimation;  and  ; 
a  few,  making  mere  pastime,  or  resting  upon 
reputation  already  earned,  had  slipped  back,  j 
Mr.  Clifton  was  represented  by  an  exquisite  , 
Qiinone,  and  on  the  same  wall,  in  a  massive  ] 
oral  frame,  hung  the  first  finished  "production  I 
of  his  pupil.  For  months  after  Russell's  de-  i 
parture  she  sat  before  her  easel,  slowly  filling  | 
up  the  outline  sketched  whih;  his  eyes  watched  | 
ht^r.  She  lingered  over  her  work,  loath  to  put  ; 
the  final  stroke,  calling  continually  upon  I 
Memory  to  furnish  the  necessary' details;  and  | 


frequently,  in  recalling  transient  smiles,  the 
curl  of  his  lip,  or  bending  of  his  brow,  palette 
and  brush  would  slip  from  her  fingers,  while 
•she  sat  weaving  the  broken  yet  priceless 
threads  of  a  hallowed  Past.  Application  some- 
times trenches  so  closely  upon  genius  as  to  be 
mistaken  for  it  in  its  results,  and.  where  both 
arc  happily  blended,  the  bud  ot  Art  expands  in 
immortal  per^^i^tion.  Electra  spared  no  toil, 
and  so  it  came  to  pass  that  the  faultless  head 
of  her  idol  excited  intense  and  universal  ad- 
miration. In  the  catalogue  it  was  briefly  men- 
sioned  as  "  No.  17; — a  portrait ;  first  effort  of 
a  young  female  ai'tist."  Cotinouscurs,  who  IxAd 
conmiitted  themselves  by  extravagant  praise, 
sni*ered  at  the  announcement  of  the  catalogue, 
and,  after  a  few  iiKjuiries,  blandly  asserted  that 
no  tyro  could  have  produced  it :  that  the  mas- 
ter had  wfo'.ight  out  its  perfection,  and  gene- 
rously allowed  the  i)upil  to  mono{)olize  the  en- 
comiums. In  vain  Mr.  Clifton  disclaimed  the 
merit,-  and  asserted  that  he  had  never  touched 
the  canvas;  that  she  had  jealou.sly  refused  to 
let  him  aid  her.  Incredulous  smiles  and  un- 
mistakable motions  of  the  head  were  the  sole 
results  of  his  expostulation.  Little  mercy  has 
a  critical  world  for  novices^  particularly  those 
clad  in  woman's  garments  ;  few  helping  hands 
are  kindly  stretched  toward  her  trembling  fin- 
gers, few  strengthening  words  find  her  in  her 
seclusion ;  and  when  these  last  do  come  in 
t'ricndly  whispers,  are  they  not  hung  up  "as 
api)les  of  gold  in  pictures  of  silver"  along  the 
checjuered  walls  of  memory?  Cold  glances 
generally  greet  her  earliest  works ;  they  are 
handled  suspiciously,  the  beauties  are  all  ex- 
tracted, set  in  a  row,  and  labelled  "plagiar- 
isms ;"  the  residue,  like  dross  in  crucibles,  is 
handed  back  as  "original,  and  her  undoubted 
property."  Or,  perchance,  the  phraseology 
varies,  and  >«he  hears  "  This  book,  this  statue, 
this  picture,  is  no  unpracticcd  woman's  work  ; 
wc  speak  advise<lly  and  pronounce"  the  fact, 
that  ])cn,  or  rasp,  or  chisel,  or  brush,  bejongs 
unmistakably  "to  a  master — an  experienced 
writer  or  veteran  artist."  .  It  is  this  bent  of 
human  nature  to  load  with  chaplets  well-es- 
tablished lavorites  of  fame,  to  "whitewash" 
continually  with  praise,  to  Jealously  withhold 
the  meed  of  beginners,  rendering  grudgingly 
"  CiPsar's  things  to  Cajsar,"  ^v-iiich  tips  many 
a  ]wn  with  gall,  and  shadows  noble  pictures 
with  unseemly  clouds.  Electra  was  indignant 
at  tiie  injustice  meted  out  to  her,  and,  as 
might  have  been  expected,  rebelled  against 
the  verdict.  Very  little  consolation  was  de- 
rived from  the  argument  by  which  her  master 
strove  to  mollify  lier — that  the  incredulity  of 
the  critics  was  the  highest  eulogy  that  couhl 
have  been  pronounceil  upon  her  work.  Some 
weeks  after  the  close  of  the  exhibition,  the 
GiJiione  was  purchased  and  the  portrait  sent 
home.  Electra  placed  it  on  the  easel  once 
more,  and  stood  before  it  in  rapt  contempla- 
tion.    Down  from  the  arched  roof  flowed  bil- 


IVJACARTA. 


59 


lows  of  light,  bathing  her  rounded  form  as  in  a 
sea  of  molten  topaz,  and  kindling  a  startling, 
almost-unearthly,  beauty  in  the  canvas.  What 
mattered  the  brevity  and  paucity  of  Russell's 
letters  now  ? — what  though  three  thousand 
miles  of  tempestuous  sea  roared  and  tossed  be- 
tween them  'i — she  had  his  untarnished  image 
in  her  heart,  his  life-like  features  ever  before 
her.  To  this  shrine  she  came  continually,  and 
laid  thereon  the  offering  of  a  love  passionate 
and  worshipping  as  ever  took  entire  possession 
of  a  woman's  heart.  Coldness,  silence,  neg- 
lect, all  were  forgotten  when  she  looked  into 
the  deep,  beautiful  eyes,  and  upon  the  broad, 
bold,  matchless  brow. 

"        .        .        .        .        Lovo  is  not  lovo 
Which  altere,  when  it.  alteration  finds, 
.Or  bends  with  the  remover  to  remove ; 
Oil,  no !  it  is  an  evei-lixed  mark, 
Tliat  looks  on  tempests  and  is  never  sh.aken." 

She  had  not  the  faintest  hopi  that  he  would 
ever  cherish  a  tenderer  feeling  for  her;  but 
love  is  a  plant  of  strange  growth :  now  lifting 
its  head  feebly  in  rich,  ;5unny  spots,  where 
every  Ibstering  influence  is  employed;  and 
now  springing  vigorous  from  barren,  rocky 
cliffs,  clinging  in  icy  crevices,  defying  every 
adverse  element,  senchng  its  fibrous  roots 
deeper  and  deeper  in  ungeuial  soil ;  bending 
b'efbre  the  fierce  breath  of  storms,  only  to 
erect  itself  more  firmly;  spreading  its  delicate 
petals  over  the  edges  of  eternal  snow,  self-sus- 
taining, invincible,  immortal.  A  curious  plant, 
truly,  and  one  which  will  not  bear  transplant- 
ing, as  many  a  luckless  experiment  has  proved. 
To-day,  as  Electra  looked  upon  her  labors,  the 
coils  of  Time  seemed  to  fall  away;  the  vista 
of  Eternity  opened  before  -her,  peopled  with 
two  forms,  which  on  earth  walked  widely  sepa- 
rate paths,  and  over  her  features -stole  a  se- 
rene, lifted  expression,  as  if,  after  painful  scal- 
ing, she  had  risen  above  the  cloud-region  and 
caught  the  first  rays  of  perpetual  sunshine. 

Time,  like  a  weaver,  made  strange,  dim,  Con- 
fused masses  of  woof  and  warp  ;  but  in  Eterni- 
ty the  earth-work  would  be  turned,  and  deli- 
cate tracery  and  marvellous  coloring,  divine 
gobelins,  would  come  ■  to  light,  raticnce  ! 
Away  from  the  loom  —  let  the  shuttle  tly  ! 
"  What  I  do  thou  knowest  not  now,  .but  thou 
shalt  know  hereafter."  Hence  to  tliy  barren 
fields,  and  till  them  until  thi;  harvest. 

Mr.  Clifton  had  watched  her  for  some  mo- 
ments, with  lowt-ring  brow  and  jealous  hatred 
of  the  picture.  Apjjroaching,  he  looked  over 
ber  shoulder,  and  asked  : 

"  How  much  longer  do  you  intend  to  stand 
here  ?  Pygmalion  was  not  more  captivated 
by  his  ivory  image  than  you  are  by  your  head. 
Were  it  Antinous  or  Apollo,  I  doubt  whether 
your  admiration  would  be  enhanced." 

"  It  is  more  than  Antinous  and  Apollo"  she 
answered,  ilrawing  the  folds  of  silk  over  the 
portrait  and  turning  toward  him. 

"  Child,  vou  are  an  idolatress." 


"  Perhaps  so ;  but,  at  least,  I  am  in  a  goodly 
company.  Many  bow  down  before  shrines  of 
their  own  handiwork  ;  some  bring  libations  to 
Mammon,  some  to  Fame,  some  to  Ambition, 
some  to  Love.  Nature  intended  us  to  kneel, 
which  is  preferable  to  standing,  statue-like, 
exacting  obeisance  from  others.  Which ,  is 
nobler?.  But  how  am  I  an  idolatress  ?  Shall 
I  not  prize  the  features  of  my  cousin,  my  earli- 
est friend  and  playmate?  Would  you  have 
me  tear  off  and  cast  away  the  kindly  emotions, 
the  warm  aftections  Avherewith  God  clothed 
me,  as  badges  of  humanity  V" 

"By  no  means.  But  would  you  have  a 
second  Ixion's  wheel  ?" 

"  Aye,  sir,  when  T  am  weak  enough  to  wor- 
ship a  cloud.  Mr.  Clifton,  I  believe  I  have 
shaken  hands  with  my  rosy-checked,  sunny- 
eyed,  siren-charmed  childhood  ;  and,  to-day, 
standing  here  a  woman,  with  few  ties  to  bind 
me  to  my  fellow-creatures,  I  hold  this  one 
jewelled  link  of  the  past  in  the  hollow  of  my 
hand,  and  pet  it.  Wliy  not?  Oh,  why  not  ? 
1  am  but  seventeen  ;  this  is  all  that  I  have  left 
to  caress,  and  soon  the  waves  of  coming  years 
will  wash  this,  too,  through  my  fingers.  Would 
you,  less  merciful  than  time,  snatch  it  from  me 
prematurely  ?" 

"  I  would,  that  in  exchange  I  might  heap 
your  hands  with  untold  treasure  and  joy." 

"  I  thinlc  I  am  less  grasping,  then,  than  you. 
Leave  me  the  little  I  value  ;  I  ask  no  more, 
wish  no  more,  will  have  no  more." 

She  would  have  left  him,  but  his  hand  fell 
heavily  on  hers. 

"  Electra,  I  must  speak  to  you ;  hear  me. 
You  hug  a  phantom  to  your  heart ;  Russell 
does  not  and  will  not  tove  you,  other  than  as 
his  cousin." 

The  blood  desert«»d  her  face,  leaving  a  gray- 
ish pallor,  but  the  eyes  sought  his  steadily, 
'and  Jhe  rippling  voice  4ost  none  of  its  rich 
cadence. 

"  Except  as  his  cousin,  I  do  not  expect  Rus- 
sell to  love  me." 

"  Oh,  child  !  you  deceive  yourself;  this  is  a 
hojie  that  you  cling  to  with  mad  tenacity." 

She  wrung  her  hand  from  his,  and  drew  her 
figure  to  its  utmost  height. 
.  "  You  transcend  your  privilege,  sir!  when 
you  attempt  to  catechise  me  thus.  I  deny  the 
right  of  any  on  earth  to  put  such  questions  to 
me — to  make  such  assertions." 

"  pjlectra,  I  did  not  mean  to  offend  you,  but 
the  time  has  come  when  we  must  understand 
each  other ." 

"  You  did  not  mean  to  offend  me-»-well, 
let  that  pass;  another  day  we  will  disctfssit,  if 
you  please,"  she  intcrrujjted,  waving  him  off 
an<l  turning  toward  the  door. 

"  No ;  you  must  hear  me  now.  I  have  a 
right  to  question  you — the  right  of  my  long,  si- 
lent, faithl'ul  love.  You  may  deny  it,  but  that 
matters  little ;  be  still,  and  listen.  Did  you 
suppose  that  J  was  simply  a  generous  man, 


60 


MACARIA. 


when  I  ofTcred  to  puard  and  aid  you — when  I 
took  you  to  my  house,  placed  you  in  my  moth- 
er's care,  and  lavished  airection  upon  you  ? 
Did  you  dream  that  I  was  disinterested  in 
what  1  have  done  to  entourage  and  assist  you? 
Did  you  imajrine  I  was  merely  an  amiable 
philanthropist,  anxious  to  help  all  in.difliculty 
and  sorrow  ?  If  so,  put  away  the  hallucina- 
tion. Consider  me  no  Ioniser  your  friend  ; 
look  at  me  as  I  am,  a  jealous  and  selfishly  ex- 
actinir  man,  who  stands  before  you  to-day  and 
tells  you  he  loves  you.  .  Oli,  Electra!  From 
the  mprninz  when  you  first  showed  me  your 
sketches,  you  have  been  more  than  my  life  to 
me.  An  unconijuerable  love  spranp  up  then, 
and  it  has  grown  with  the  mouths  and  years, 
takiui  sole  possession  of  a  heart  which  nerer 
bowed  before  any  oilier  woman.  Every  hope 
I  have  centres  in  you.  I  have  not  deceived 
myseif ;  I  knew  that  you  loved  Russell.  Nay, 
don't  deny  it;  I  hav6  watched  you  too  long  not 
to  probe  your  mask.  I  knew  that  he  had  your 
pirlish  love,  but  I  waited,  and  hoped  my  de- 
votion would  win  you.  You  were  but  a  child, 
and  I  thought  the  depth  and  fervor  of  my 
airection  would  out-weigh  a  cliildish  fancy. 
When  he  came  here,  I  saw  that  the  old  fasci- 
nation still  kept  its  hold  upon  you;  but  1  saw, 
too,  what  you  saw  quite  as  plainly — that  in 
]lusjell  Aubrey's  heart  there  is  room  for  noth- 
ing but  ambition.  I  knew  how  you  sulT'ered, 
and  I  believed  it  was  the  death-struggle  of 
your  love.  But,  instead,  I  find  you,  day  by 
day,  before  that  easel  —  oblivious  of  me,  of 
ever3ihiug  but  the  features  you  cling  to  so 
insanely.  Do  you  wonder  that  I  hate  that 
]iortrait  ?  Do  you  wonder  that  I  am  growing 
desperate  ?  ^\'here  is  your  womanly  pride, 
that  you  lavish  your  love  on  one  totally  indif- 
ferent id  you  y  Strange  paradox  that  you 
are ! — proud,  passionate,  exacting,  and  yet 
clinging  madly  to  a  memory.  Have  you  n(J 
mercy,  that  you  doom  me  to  live  for  ever  on 
the  rack?  Sliall  yonder  piece  of  canvas  al- 
ways stand  between  your  heart  »nd  mine  ?  if 
he  loved  you  in  return,  I  could  bear  it  better; 
but  as  it  is,  I  am  tortured  beyond  all  endurance. 
I  have  spent  nearly  three  years  in  trying  to 
gain  your  heart ;  all  other  aims  have  faded  be- 
fore this  one  absorbing  love.  To-day  I  lay  it  at 
your  feet,  and  ask  if  I  have  not  earned  some 
reward.    Oh,  Electra !  have  you  no  gratitude?" 

A  .scarlet  spot  burned  on  his  pale  cheeks,  and 
the  mild  licjuid  gray  eyes  sparkled  like  stars. 

It  was  no  startling  revelation  to  her ;  long 
before  siie  hail  seen  that  this  hour  of  trial  fnust 
comcuto  both,  and  now,  desi)ite  her  resolution, 
his  words  unnerved  her.  She  dared  not  look 
at  him;  the  hollow  voice  told  her  too  well  what 
effect  tliis  excitement  was  working  on  his 
feeble  frame. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Clifton  !  I  am  grateful;  God,  who 
sees  my  heart,  knows  that  I  am.  No  child 
ever  loved  a  parent  better  thas  I  love  you." 

"  It  iii  uot  filial  afTection  that  I  aak  af  you 


now.  I  beg  you  to  lay  your  de.ir  hands  in 
mine,  and>promise  to  be  my  wife.  I  ask  this, 
of  you  in  the  name  of  my  devotion.  You  gave 
yourself  to  me  years  ago,  and  to-day  I  beseech 
vou  to  seal  the  comjjact  by  a  final  promise. 
Electra,  beware  how  you  finswer  !  Bridge  the 
gulf  between  us.     Give  me  your  hand." 

He  stretclied  out  his  hand,  but  she  drew 
back  a  step. 

"  God  forgive  me  !  but  I  have  no  such  love 
for  you." 

A  ghastly  smile  broke  over  his  face,  and, 
after  a  moment,  the  snowy  handkerchief  he 
passed  across  his  lips  was  stained  with  ruby 
streaks. 

"  I  know  that,  and  I  know  the  reason.     But, 
once  more,  I  ask  you  to  give  me  your  hand. 
Electra,  dearest,  do  not,  1  pray  you,  refuse  mc  ^ 
this.     Oh,  child  I    give  me   your  hand,  and  in 
time  you  will  learn  to  love  me." 

He  seized  Iter  fingers,  and  stooped  his  head 
till  the  silky  brown  beard  mingled  with  her 
raven  locks. 

''  Mr.  Clifton,  to  marry  without  love  would 
be  a  greivous  sin  ;  I  dure  not.  We  would  hate 
each  other.  Life  would  be  a  curse  to  both, 
and  death  a  welcome  release.  Could  you  en- 
dure a  wife  who  acce|»ted  your  hand  from 
gratitude  and  pity  ?  Oh  !  such  a  relationship 
would  be  horrible  beyond  all  degree.  I  shud- 
der at  the  thought." 

"  But  you  would  learn  to  love  me." 

The  summer  wind  shook  the  window-ciir- 
tains  and  rustled,  the  folds  of  black  silk  till 
the  drapery  slid  from  the  portrait  and  left  it 
fully  exposed  to  view.  She  gave  one  quick 
glance  at  the  beloveil  countenance,  and,  fall- 
ing on  her  knees  before  the  easel,  raised  her 
clasped  hands  passionately,  and  exclauned  : 

"  Imi)0ssiblc  !    impossible!     You    have  said 
that  he'  is  my  idol,  and  you  make  no  mistake. 
He   fills  my   heart  so   entirely,   that  I  have 
nothing  but  reverence  and   gratitude  to  offer 
you.     I  am  young,  I  know,  and  you  think  that 
i  this  is  a  girlish  fancy,  which  will  fade  with  com- 
j  ing  years.     I  tell  you,  sir,  this  love  has  become 
I  part  of  mc.     When  he  went  to  Europe  I  said, 
I  •  I  will  tear  it  out  of  my  heart,  and  forget  him; 
I  will  give   every   thought    to  my  noble   art.' 
Faithfully  I  strove  to  do  so ;  but  a  little  moun- 
tain stream,  once  raergeil  in  the  pathless  ocean, 
might  as  well  struggle  to  gather  back   its  tiny 
waveletu  and  return  to  its  pebbly  channel.     I 
am  proud  ;   it  humiliates  me    to  acknowledge 
all  this;  and  nothing  on  earth  could  wring  it 
from  me   but  my  desire  to  convince  you  that 
it  is  utterly  impossible  I  can  ever  love  you,  as 
you  ask. 

"  I  lift  luy  lieary  heart  up  iuUmnly, 
.^i  onrs  lilectra  li«r  lopulclinvl  urn. 
Ami,  loDliing  in  tliine  •>•(•$,  1  overturn 
The  ftshci  «t  tliy  fcft.     Hfliold,  and  set 
What  a  great  heap  of  grief  lay  hid  in  me. 
And  liow  the  red  wild  iparklea  dimly  burn 
Thrnugh  the  avhen  (jrayneis.     If  tlir  foot  in  tsAl'U 
Caulii  tread  tht-ni  out  tcdurkneiis  utloily, 
It  lulght  bv  well,  )i*rbap«." 


MACARIA. 


61 


"But  you  can  not  take  Russell's  place.  None" 
can  come  between  him  and  my  heairt." 

The  yellow  light  dripped  down  on  iier 
purplish  hair,  crj'stalizing  into  a  nimbus,  as 
she  knelt  before  the  portrait,  lifting  her  hands, 
like  saints  in  medieval  pictures,  fleeing  from 
martrydom.  Shame  dyed  her  cheeks,  but  a 
desperate,  reckless  triumph  flashed  in  the  up- 
raised eyes,  revealing  fully  the  aversion 
■which  his  suit  had  inspired.  Unfortunate, 
de])lorabIe  as  was  her  love  for  a  cousin,  il 
seemed  for  the  moment  to  glorify  her,  and 
Mr.  Clifton  put  his  hand  over  his  eyes  to  shut 
out  the  vision. 

"  Electra  Grey,  you  are  unwomanly  in  your 
unsought  love." 

She  turned  her  head,  and,  looking  over  her 
shoulder  at  him,  smiled  derisively. 

'•  Unwomanly  !  If  so,  made  such  by  your 
nnmanliness.  Unwomanly!  I  deny  it.  Which 
is  most  womanly — to  yield  to  the  merciless 
importunity  of  one  to  whom  I  am  indebted; 
to  give  my  hand  to  hira  whose  touch  chills  the 
blood  in  my  veins  ;  to  promise  to  become  his 
"wife,  when  the  bare  thought  sickens  my  soul; 
to  dare  to  stand  before  God's  altar  and  take  false 
vows  on  my  lips,  or  to  tell  the  simple  truth  ? 
to  shield  myself  from  his  entreaties,  under  the 
holy  mantle  of  a  deep,  undying  love  for  anoth- 
er V  I  volunteered  no  confession  ;  you  taxed 
and  taunted  me  with  my  aflection.  Sir,  it 
should  have  made  me  sacred  in  your  eyes. 
Unwomanly !  Were  you  more  mdnly,  I  had 
never  shocked  your  maudlin  sentiments  of 
propriety." 

"  An(l  this  is  my  reward  for  all  the  tender- 
ness 1  have  lavished  on  you.  When  Istooped 
to  beg  your  hand,  to  be  repulsed  with  scorn 
and  loathing.     To  spend  three  years  in  faith- 

iul  ellbrt  to  win  your  heart,  and  reap 

conteiypt,  hatred." 

Staggering  back,  he  sank  into  his  arm-chair 
and  closed  his  eyes  a  moment,  then  continued  : 

"  If  it  were  possible  that  you  could  be  hap- 
py,'! would  not  complain  ;  but  there  is  no  hope 
of  that.  You  might  as  well  kneel  to  my  mar- 
ble Hermes  yonder,  as  to  Russell.  Stranger 
infatuation  never  possessed  a  woman." 

*'  I  am  not  blind  ;  I  neither  ask  nor  expect 
anything  from  hira.  Unless  you  betray  my 
confidence  he  will  never  suspect  the  truth, 
and  I  woidd  sooner  endure  the  tortures  of 
Torquomada  than  that  he  shoidd  know  it. 
But  by  what  process  will  you  demonstrate 
that,  since  a  rare  and  royal  banquet  is  for  ever 
shut  bt;yond  my  reach,  it  is  ray  duty  to  sit 
down  in  the  dust  and  try  to  content  myself 
with  husks?  Sir,  my  (iod  never  intendeiime 
to  live,  on  crumbs,  and  I  will  not.  T  will  he 
true  to^ny  heart ;  if  tlic  vast  host  of  my  fel- 
low-creatures should  pass  away  from  .earth,  I 
will  stand  alone,  and  comiuer  solitude  as  best 
I  may.  '  Not  'one  jot,  not  one  tittle*  of  my  na- 
ture will  I  yield  for  companionship.  No  raesi 
.  of  pottagu  will  I  have,  in  litu  of  my  birthright. 


All,  or  none  !  Marriage  i?  holy  ;  God,  in  His 
wisdom,  instituted  it  with  the  seal  of  love ; 
but  its  desecration  with  counterfeits  makes 
Tophets,  Golgothas,  instead  of  Edens.  I  know 
what  I  have  to  expect ;  on  my  own  head  be 
my  future.  If  quarrel  there  be,  it  is  between 
fate  and  me  ;  you  have  no  concern  in  it."  ' 

"  I  would  not  have  troubled  you  long,  Elec- 
tra. It  was  because  I  knew  that  my  life  must 
be  short  at  best,  that  I  urged  you  to  gild  the 
brief  period  with  the  light  of  your  love.  I 
would  not  have  bound  you  always  to  me  ;  and 
when  I  asked  your  hand  a  few  minutes  since,  I 
knew  that  death  would  soon  sever  tlie  tie  and 
set  you  free.  Let  this  suffice  to  palliate  my 
'unmanly'  pleading.  I  haye  but  one  rccjuest 
to  make  of  you  now,  and,  weak  as  it  may  seem, 
I  beg  of  you  not  to  denV  me.  You  are  prepar- 
ing to  leave  my  house;  this  I  know;  I  see  if 
in  your  face,  and  the  thought  is  harrowing  to 
me.  Electra,  remain  under  my  roof  while  I 
live ;  let  me  sec  you  every  day,  here,  in  my 
house.  If  not  as  my  wife,  stay  as  my  friend, 
my  pupil,  my  child.  I  little  thought  I  could 
ever  condescend  to  ask  this  of  any  one  ;  but 
the  dread  of  separation  bows  nic  down.  Oh, 
child  !  I  will  not  claim  you  long." 

She  stood  up  before  him  wilh  the  portrait 
in  her  arms,  resolved,  then  and  there,  to  leave 
him  for  ever.  But  the  ghastly  pallor  of  his 
face,  the  scarlet  thread  oozing  over  his  lips 
and  saturating  the.  handkercliief  with  which 
he  strove  to  staunch  it,  told  her  that  the  .re- 
quest was  preferred  on  no  idle  pretext.  In 
swift  review,  his  kindness,  generosity,  and  un- 
wavering affection  passed  before  her,  and  the 
mingled  accents  of  rertiorse  and  compassion 
;whispered :  "  Pay  your  debt  of  gratitude  by 
sacrificing  your  heart.  If  you  can  make  hiin 
happy,  you  owe  it  to  him." 

Without  a  word  she  passed  him  and  went 
up  to  her  own  room.  It  was  an  hour  of  sore 
tcanptation  for  one  so  young  and  inexperienced, 
but  placing  the  pprtrait  on  the  low  mantle, 
she  crossed  her  arms  before  it,  and  tried  to  lay 
matters  in  the  scale.  On  one  side,  years  of  de- 
votion, the  circumstances  of  the  artist's  life, 
his  mother's  infirmity,  confining  her  sometimes 
to  her  bed,  often  to  her  room,  preventing  her 
from  nursing  him  ;  the  weary  season  of  his  te- 
dious illness,  the  last  hours  gloomy  and  misera- 
ble, unsoothed  by  gentle  words  or  tender 
offices.  On  the  other,  stern  adherence,  uner- 
ring obedience  to  the  dictates  of  her  heart,  the 
necessary  self-abnegation,  the  patient  attend- 
ance at  the  couch  of  prolonged  sull'ering,  and 
entire  devotion  to  him.  For  a  time  the  scales 
balanced  ;  she  could  not  conqueV*  her  repug- 
nance to  rcmainincr  in  Uis  home  ;  then  a  grave 
and  its  monumental  stone  were  added," and, 
■vyith  a  groan,  she  dropped  her  face  in  her 
Irands.  At  the  expiration  of  two  hours  she 
locked  the  portrait  from  vicM',  and  went  slow- 
ly back  to  the  studio.  The  house  was  very 
(juiut ;  the  ticking  of  the  cloek  was  distiautl^ 


62 


MAC  ARIA- 


heard  as  she  pushed  the  door  open  and  glided 
in.  Involuntarily  she  dr^^vf  a  lone,  deep 
breath,  for  it  was  like  leaving  freedom  at  the 
threshold,  and  taking  upon  herself  grievous 
bonds.  The  arni-eliair  was  vacant,  but  the 
artist  lay  on  one  of  the  sofas,  with  his  face  tow- 
ard the  wall,  and  on  a  small  table  beside  him 
stood  a  crystal  bowl  of  cracked  ice,  a  stained 
wiue-glass,  and  vial  containing  some  dark 
purple  liquid.  Approaciiing  softly,  she  scan- 
ned the  countenance,  and  tears  gathered  in 
her  eyes  as  she  saw  how  thin  and  hollow  were 
the  now  tlushec]  cheeks  ;  how  the  lips  writhed 
now  and  then,  as  if  striving  to  suppress  bitter 
words.  The  beautiful  brown  liair  was  all 
tossed  back,  and  she  noticed  that  along  the 
forehead  clustired  many  silver  threads.  One 
hand  was  thrust  within  his  vest,  the  other 
thrown  up  over  the  head,  grasping  a  fresh 
handkerchief.  Softly  she  took  this  hand,  aiul, 
bending  over  him,  said,  in  a  low,  thrilling 
tone  : 

"  Mr.  Clifton,  I  was  passionate  and  hasty, 
and  said  some  unkind  things  which  I  would 
fain  recall,  and  for  which  I  beg  your  pardon. 
I  thank  you  for  the  honor  you  would  have  con- 
ferred on  me,  and  for  the  unmerited  love  you 
offered  me.  Unless  it  were  in  my  power  to 
return  that  love,  it  would  be  sinful  to  give  you 
my  hand  ;  but,  since  you  desire  it  so  earnestly, 
I  will  promise  to  stay  by  your  side,  to  do  what 
I  can  to  make  you  happy ;  to  prove,  by  my  de- 
votion, that  I  am  not  insensible  to  all  your 
kindness,  that  I  am  very  grateful  for  the  affec- 
tion you  have  given  me.  i  come  and  oiler 
you  this,  as  a  poor  return  for  all  that  I  owe 
you  ;  it  is  the  most  my  conscience  will  permit 
me  to  tender.  My  friend,  my  master,  will  you 
accept  it,  and  forgive  the  pain  and  sorrow  I 
have  caused  you  ?" 

He  felt  her  tears  falling  on  his  fingers,  and," 
for  a  moment,  neither  spoke  ;  then  he  drew 
the  hands  to  his  lips  and  kissed  them  tenderl}-. 

"  Thanjc  you,  Electra.  I  know  it  is  a  sac- 
rifice on  your  part,  but  I  am  selfish  enough  to 
accept  it.     Heaven  bless  you,  my  pupil." 

"  In  future  we  will  not  allude  to  this  day  of 
trial — let  it  be  forgotten  ;  '  let  the  dead  ])ast 
bury  its  dead.'  I  will  have  no  resurrected 
phantoms.  And  now,  sir,  you  must  not  allow 
this  slight  hemorrhage  to  depress  you.  In  a 
few  days  you  will  be  stronger,  quite  able  to 
examine  and  find  fault  with  my  work.  Shall 
I  send  a  note  to  Dr.  LeRoy,  asking  him  to  call 
and  see  you  this  evening  ?" 

"  He  has  just  left  me.  Say  nothing  of  the 
hemorrhage  to  mother  ;  it  would  only  distress 
Eer." 

He  released  her  hands,  and,  stooping  over  liis 
pillow,  she  smoothed  the  disordered  hair,  and 
for  the  first  time  pressed  her  lips  to  his  forehead. 

Thus  she  bowed  her  neck  to  the  yoke,  and, 
with  a  fi.xed,  unalterable  will,  entered  on  the 
long,  dreary  ministry  to  which  she  felt  that 
duty  called. 


We  shade  our  eyes,  and  peer  into  the  dim 
unknown,  striving  to  see  whither  we  are  tend- 
inir,  and  a  sudden  turn  in  the  way,  a  sharp 
angle,  brings  us  face  to  face  with  huge,  frown- 
ing obstacles,  that  grimly  bar  all  progress  in 
the  direction  to  which  our  inclinations  point. 
Strange  devious  paths  stretch  out  at  our  feet, 
baffling  all  our  ^ise  conjectures,  setting  at  de- 
fiance all  our  ])lans  and  prudential  machina- 
tions. From  breath  to  breath,  from  step  to 
step,  from  hour  to  hour,  is  man's  sole  empire. 
"  Boast  not  thyself  of  to-morrow." 


CHAPTER  XIII.' 

"  Cities  give  not  the  human  senses  room 
enough,"  says  a  latter-day  seer,  and  Electra 
Grey  sometimes  felt  that  her  heart  and  soul 
were  in  the  stocks,  or  ironed  down  to  a  stake, 
leaving  only  a  periphery  of  a  few  feet.  Brick 
walls  and  paving-stones  uttered  no  kindly 
message;  hurrying  foot-passengers  and  crowcl- 
:ed  omnibuses  told  of  the  din  and  strife  of  life, 
but  whispered  no  word  of  cheer,  no  lesson  of 
uncomplaining  fortitude,  no  exhortation  to  be 
strong  and  patient.  She  saw  colossal  selfish- 
ness crushing  along  its  .Tuggernautic  way ; 
wealth  jostled  poverty  into  the  gutter,  and 
beauty  picked  a  dainty  crossing  to  give  a  wide 
berth  to  deformity;  hard,  stern,  granite-like 
faces  passed  her  Avindow  day  by  day;  princely 
equipages,  with  haughty,  supercilious  occu- 
pants, rolled -along  the  street,  and  bridal  trains 
anfcl  funeral  processions  mingled  in  their  wind- 
ings. If  man  be,  indeed,  a  "  microcosm,"  to 
what  shall  I  liken  that  great  city  wherein 
dwelt  the  painter  and  his  pupil  ?  Isis,  the 
great  nursing-mother — genial  Nature,  teeming 
with  soothing  influences,  and  missals  of  joy 
and  strength,  seeme'd  sepulchred — and  in  her 
place,  a  ilint-featured,  miserly,  and  most  in- 
tolerable step-mother,  frowned  upon  the  luck- 
less young  artist.  City  life!  City  starvation, 
rather,  she  found  it,  until  a  long  and  painful 
apprenticeship  taught  her  the  priceless  alche- 
my whereby  smiling  Plenty  beamed  upon  her. 
Reared  on  the  outskirts  of  a  country-town,  she 
longed  for  the  freedom  and  solitude  of  the  old 
pine-woods  at  home,,  and  sickened  at  the 
thought  of  spending  her  life  within  walls  of 
brick  and  mortar.  She  had  selected  an  attic 
room,  with  dormer  windows  looking  eastward, 
and  here  she  daily  watched  the  pale  gray 
dawn  struggle  with  the  vapors  and  shadows  of 
night.  "  Quiet  fields  of  crimson  cirri,"  fieecy 
massijs  of  restless,  glittering  cumuli,  or  the 
sweep  and  rush  of  "  inky-fringed,"  lowering 
rain-clouds,  alike  charmed  her.  Long  before 
the  servants  stirred  below  she  was  seated  at 
the  window,  noting  the  waning  shimmer  of 
the  Morning-Star  as  the  waves  of  light  rolled 
up  and  crested  the  horizon,  whitening  the 
deep    dark  blue  with  their  sparkhng  spray 


MA  3  ARIA. 


63 


The  peculiarities  of  each  sunrise  and  sunset 
■were  jotted  down  assiduously  ; 

"  Clond-wnlls  of  the  morning's  grey 
Faced  with  amber  column, 
Crowned  with  crimson  cupola 
From  a  sunset  solemn." 

were  sketched  with  great  care,  and  put  aside 
for  future  use  ;  and  it  rarely  happened  that,  on 
a  dull,  rainy  mornino-,  she  came  down  to  break- 
fast looking  other  than  moody  and  disappoint- 
ed, as  though  her  rights  liad  been  infringed, 
her  privileges  curtailed.  Constituted  with 
kteen  susco])tibility  to  impressions  of  beauty  or 
sublimity,  whether  physical,  moral,  or  intellec- 
tual, Nature  intended  her  as  a  thing  for  sun- 
shine and  holidays,  as  a  darling  to  be  petted ; 
but  Fate  shook  her  head,"  and,  with  a  grimace, 
set  the  tender  young  soul  on  a  bleak  exposure, 
to  be  hardened  and  invigorated. 

With  the  characteristic  fitfulness  of  con- 
siunption,  Mr.  Clifton  rallied,  and,  for  a  time, 
seemed  almost  restored  ;  but  at  the  approach 
of  winter  the  cough  increased,  and  dangerous 
symptoms  returned.  Several  months  alter  the 
rejection  of  his  suit,  to  which  no  allusion  had 
ever  been  made,  Electra  sat  li^ifore  her  easel, 
absorbed  in  work,  while  the  master  slowly 
walked  up  and  down  the  studio,  wrapped  in  a 
warm  plaid  shawl.  Occasionally  he  paused 
and  looked  over  her  shoulder,  then  resumed 
his  pace,  olforing  no  comment.  It  was  not  an 
unusual  occurrence  for  them  to  pass  entire 
mornings  together  without  exchanging  a  word, 
and  to-day  the  silence  had  lasted  more  than 
an  hour.  A  prolonged  fit  of  coughing  finally 
arrested  her  attention,  and,  glancing  up,  she 
met  his  sad  gaze. 

"  TJiis  is  unpropitious  weather  for  vou,  Mr. 
CHfton." 

"  Yes,  this  winter  offers  a  dreary  prospect." 

"There  is  the  Doctor  now,  passing  the  win- 
dow. I  will  come  back  as  soon  as  his  visit  is 
over."  Slie  rose  hastily  to  quit  the  room,  but. 
he  detained  her. 

"  Do  not  go — I  wish  j'ou  to  remain,  and  fin- 
ish your  work." 

Dr.  Le  Hoy  entered,  and,  after  (juestioning 
his  patient,  stood  on  the  rug,  warming  his 
fingers. 

"  The  fact  is,  my  dear  fellow,  this  is  not  the 
place  Ibr  you.  I  sent  you  south  four  years 
ago  nearly,  and  saved  vour  life ;  and,  as  I  told 
you  last  week,  you  wilfhave  to  take  that  same 
prescription  again.  It  is  folly  to  talk  of  spend- 
ing the  winter  here.  I  can  do  nothing  for 
you.  You  must  go  to  Cuba,  or  to  Italy.  It  is 
of  no  us(^  to  try  to  deceive  you,  Harry  ;  you 
know,  jasfas  well  as  I  do,  that  your  case  is  get- 
ting xlesperate,  and  change  of  climate  is  your 
last  hope. '   I  have  told  you  all  tliis  before."       i 

Electra  laid  down  her  pallette,  and  listened  -, 
for  the  answer.  i 

"  I  am  sorrv  you  think  so,  but  I  can't  leave  | 
New  York. '  "  ! 

"  Why  not  ?"  I 


"  For  various  good  reasons." 

"  My  dear  fellow,  is  your  life  of  any  value  ?" 

"  A  strange  question,  truly." 

"  If  it  is,  quit  Ncav  York  in  thirty-six  hours  ; 
if  not,  remain, '  for  vai'ious  good  reasons.'  Send 
to  my  ollice  for  an  anodyne.  Better  take  my 
advice.     Good-day." 

Passing  by  the  easel,  he  whispered: 
.  "  Use    your    influence ;    send   him   south.' 
And  then  the  two  were  again  alone. 

Resting  her  chin  in  her  hands  she  raised 
her  eyes,  and  said  : 

"  Whv  do  you  not  follow  the  Doctor's  ad- 
vice V     A  winter  south  might  restore  you." 

He  drew  near,  and,  leaning  his  folded  arms 
on  the  top  of  the  easel,  looked  down  into  her. 
face. 

"  There  is  only  one  condition  upon  which  I 
could  consent  to  go ;  that  is  in  your  hands. 
Will  you  accompany  me  V" 

lShe  understood  it  all  in  an  instant,  saw  the 
new  form  in  which  the  trial  presented  itself, 
and  her  soul  sickened. 

"  Mr.  Clifton,  if  I  were  your  sister,  or  your 
child,  I  would  gladly  go ;  but,  as  your  pupil,  I 
can  not." 

"  As  Electra  Grey,  certainly  not;  but,  as 
Electra  Clifton,  you  could  go." 

"  Electra  Grey  will  be  carved  on  my  tomb- 
stone." 

"  Then  you  decide  my  fate.  I  remain,  and 
wait  the  slow  approach  of  death." 

"No,  before  just  Heaven  !  I  take  no  such 
responsibility,  nor  shall  you  thrust  it  on  me. 
Y''ou  are  a  man,  and  must  decide  your  destiny 
for  yourself;  I  am  a  poor  girl,  having  no  claim 
upon,  no  power  over  you.  It  is  your  duty  to 
preserve  the  life  which  God  gave  you,  in  the 
way  prescribed  by  your^physician,  and  I  have 
no  voice  in  the  matter.  It  is  your  duty  to  go 
south,  and  it  will  be  both  weak  and  wicked  to 
•remain  ht're  under  existing  circumstances." 

"  My  life  is  centred  in  you  ;  it  is  worthless, 
nay,  a  burden,  separated  from  you." 

"  Y^our  life  should  be  centred  in  something 
nobler,  better  ;  in  your  duty,  in  your  profes- 
sion. It  is  suicidal  to  fold  your  hands  listless- 
ly, and  look  to  me,  as  you  do." 

"  All  these  things  have  I  tried,  and  I  am 
weary  of  their  hoUowncss,  weary  of  life,  and 
the  world.  So  long  as  I  have  your  face  here, 
I  care  not  to  cross  my  own  threshold  till  ftiend- 
ly  hands  bear  me  out  to  my  quiet  resting 
place  under  the  willows  of  Greenwood. 
Electra,  my  darling,  think  me  weak  if  you 
will,  but  bear  with  me  a  little  while  longer, 
and  then  this,  my  shadow,  shall  flit  from  your 
young  heart,  leaving  not  even  a  memory  to 
haunt  you.  Be  patient !  I  will  soon  pass  away, 
to  another,  a  more  peaceful,  blessed  sphere." 

A  melancholy  smile  lighted  his  fair  waxen 
features,  as  waning,  Rickly  sunshine  in  an  au- 
tumn evening  flickers  over  sculptured  marble 
in  a  .silent  church-yard. 

How  she  compassionated  his  great  weak- 


64 


MACARIA. 


nesa,  as  he  wiped  away  the  moisture  which, 
even  on  thut  cold  day,  glistened  on  his  fore- 
head. 

"  Oh  !  I  beseech  yon  to  go  to  Cuba.  Go, 
and  pet  strong  once  more." 

"  Nothing  will  ever  help  me  now.  Sunny 
skies  and  soft. breezes  bring  no  healing  for 
me.  I  want  to  die  here,  in  my  home,  where 
your  hands  will  be  about  me  ;  not  among 
strangers,  in  Cuba  or  Italy." 

lie  turned  to  the  fire,  and,  springing  up,  she 
left  the  room.  The  solemn  silence  of  the 
house  oppressed  her ;  she  put  on  her^hickest 
wrappings,  and  took  the  street  leading  to  the 
nearest  park.  A  steel-gray  sky,  with  slowly- 
trailing  clouds,  looked  down  on  her,  and  the 
keen,  chilly  wind  wafted  a  fine  snow-powder 
in  her  face  as  ."ihe  pressed  against  it.  The 
trees  were  bare,  and, the  sere  grass  grew  hoary 
as  the'  first  snow-flakes  of  the  season  came 
down  softly  and  shroud-like.  The  walks  were 
deserted,  save  where  a  hurrying  form  crossed 
from  street  to  street,  homeward-bound  ;  and 
Electra  passed  slowly  along,  absorbed  in 
thoughts  colder  than  the  frosting  that  gath- 
ered on  shawl  and  bonnet.  The  face  and  fig- 
ure of  the  painter  glided  spectrally  before  her 
■at  every  step,  and  a  mighty  temptation  follow- 
ed at  its  heels.  AVhy  not  strangle  her  heart  ? 
"Why  not  m^rry  him  and  bear  his  name,  if, 
thereby,  she  could  make  his  few  remaining 
months  of  existence  happy,  and,  by  accompa- 
nying him  south,  prolong  his  life  even  for  a 
few  weeks  ?  She  shuddered  at  the  sugges- 
tion, it  would  be  such  a  miserable  lot.  'But 
then  the  question  arose  :  "  Who  told  you  that 
your  life  was  given  for  happiness  ?  Do  you 
imagine  your  Maker  set  you  on  earth  solely 
to  hunt  your  own  enjoyment  ?  Suppose  duty 
costs  you  pain  and  struggles  ;  is  it  any  the  loss 
duty  ?  Nay,  is  it  not  all  the  more  urgent 
duty  '!"  She  knew  that  she  could  return  to 
the  artist,  and,  with  one  brief  sentence,  pour 
the  chrism  of  joy  over  his  suffering  soul ;  and  her 
great  compassion,  mild-eyed,  soft-lipped,  ten- 
der-hearted, whi.spered  :  Why  not?  why  not  ? 

"  Nature  owns  no  man  who  is-  not  a  martyr 
withal."  If  this  dictum  possessed  any  value, 
did  it  not  point  to  her  mission  ?  She  could 
no  longer  shut  her  eyes  and  stumble  on,  for 
right  in  her  patli  stood  an  awful  form,  with 
austere  lip  and  iiery  eye,  demanding  a  parley, 
defying  all  escape  ;  and,  calmly,  she  stood  face 
to  face  with  her  Sphinx,  considering  her  rid- 
dle. A  young,  motherless  girl,  without  the 
girding  of  a  holy  religion,  a  free,  untamed  soul, 
yielding  allegiance  to  no  creed,  hearkening 
only  to  the  dictates  of  her  tempestuous  nature, 
now  confronting  the  riiost  ancient  immemorial 
Destroyer  who  haunts  the  highways  of  society 
Self-immolation,  or  a  poisoning  of  the  spring 
of  joy  in  the  heart  of  a  fellow-creature  ?  Was 
duty  a  Moloch,  clasping  its  scorching  arms 
around  its  deyotees  V — a  Juggernaut,  indeed, 
whose  iron  wheels  drank  the  life-blood  of  its 


victims  ?  "Will  you  see  your  btnefactor  sink 
swiftly  into  an  early  grave,  and,  standing  by 
with  folded  arms,  pecsuade  yourself  that  it  is 
not  your  duty  to  attempt  to  save  him,  at  all 
hazards?  Can  nothing  less  than  love  ever 
sanction  marriage  ?"  Such  was  the  riddle 
hurled  before  her,  and,  as  she  pondered,  the 
floodgates  of  her  sorrow  and  jealousy  were 
once  more  lifted — the  rush  and  roar  of  bitter 
waters  drowned,  for  a  time,  the  accents  of  con- 
science and  of  reason. 

But  out  of  these  fierce  asphaltic  waves  arose, 
Aphrodite-like,  a  pure,  radiant,  heavenly 
form — a  child  of  alf  climes,  conditions,  and  ages 
— an  immortal  evangel ;  and,  as  the  piercing, 
sunny  eyes  of  womanly  intuition  looked  upon 
the  riddle,  the  stony  lineaments  of  the  Sphinx 
melted  into  air.  If  •v^omanly  eyes  rest  on  this 
page  the  answer  need  not  be  traced  her«, 
Jbr  in  every  true  woman's  heart  the  answer 
is  to  be  found  engraved  in  God's  own  charac- 
ters ;  and,  hpwever  the  rubbish  of  ignoble  mo- 
tives may  accumulate,  it  can  never  obliterate 
the  divine  handwriting.  In  the  holiest  orato- 
ry of  her  nature  is  enshrined  an  infallible 
talisman,  an  segis,  and  she  requires  no  other 
panoply  in  the  long  struggle  incident  (^  trials 
such  as  shook  the  stormy  soul  of  the  young  ar- 
tist. Faster  fell  the  snow-flakes,  cresting  the 
Avaves  of  hair  like  foam,  and,  setting  her  teeth 
firmly,  as  if  thereby  locking  the  door  against 
all  compassionating  compunctions,  Electra  left 
the  park  and  turned  into  a  c;ro3S-street,  on 
which  was  situated  an  establishment  where 
bouquets  were  kept  for  sale.  The  assortment 
was  meagre  at  that  late  hour,  but  she  selected 
a'  tiny  bunch  of  delicate,  fragrant,  hot-house 
blossoms,  and,  shielding  them  with  her  shawl, 
hastened  home.  The  studio  was  brilliant  with 
gas-glare  and  warm  with  the  breath  of  anthra- 
cite, but  an  aspect  of  dreariness,  silence,  and 
sorrow  predominated.  The  figures  in  the 
pictures  shrank  back  in  their  frames,  the  stat- 
ues gleamed  mournfully  white  and  cold,  and 
the  emaciated  form  and  face  of  the  painter, 
thrown  into  bold  relief  by  the  dark  green 
lining  of  the  easy  chair,  seemed  to  belong  to 
realms  of  death  rather  than  life.  On  the  edge 
of  the  low  scroll-sculptured  mantle,  supported 
at  each  corner  by  caryatiden,  percl^ed  a  large 
tame  gray  owl,  with  clipped  wings  folded, 
and  wide,  solemn,  oracular  eyes  fastened 
on  the  countenance  of  its  beloved  master. 
A  bronze  clock,  of  exquisite  workmanship,  oc- 
cupied the  centre,  and  represented  the  Angel 
of  Revelations  "  sioearing  by  Him  that  liveth  for 
evi^r  and  ever,  that  Time  should  h«  no  longer." 
One  hand  held  the  open  book,  the  other  a 
hammer,  which  gave  out  the  hours  with  clear 
metallic  ring;  and  along  the  base,  just  under- 
neath the  silver  dial-plate,  were  carved,  in 
German  characters,  the  words  of  Richter : 
"  And  an  immeasurably  extended  hammer  was 
to  strike  the  last  hour  of  Time,  and  shiver  the 
universe  asunder." 


MACARIA. 


65 


With  swift,  noiseless  steps  Elcctra  came  to  the 
.  red  grate,  and,  after  a  moment,  drew  an  otto- 
man close  to  the  easy  chair.  Perhaps  its  oc- 
cupant slept;  perchance  lie  wandered,  with 
closed  C3-ei!,  far  down  amon;^  tlie  sombre,  dank 
ciypts  of  memory.  She  laid  her  cool  fi niters 
on  his  hand,  and  held  the  bouquet  before  him. 

"  !My  dear  sir,  here  are  your  llowers ;  they, 
are  not  as  pretty  as  usual,  but  sweet  enough 
to  atone  for  lack  of  beauty." 

He  lingered  them -caressingly,  laid  them 
against  his  hollow  cheeks,  and  hid  his  lips 
^  among  their  fragrant  petals,  but  the  starry 
eyes  were  fixed  on  the  features  of  the  pupil. 

*'  It  is  bitter  weather  out ;  did  you  brave  it 
for  these '?  Tliank  you,  but  don't  expose 
yourself  so  in  future.  Two  invalids  in  a  house 
are  quite  enough.  You  are  snow-crowneil, 
little  one  ;  do  you  kno'w  it?  The  frosting 
gleams  right  royally  on  that  black  hair,  of 
yours.  Nay,  child,  don't  brush  it  off;  like  all 
lovely  things  it  fades  rapidly,  melts  away  like 
ilie  dreams  that  flutter  around  a  boy  in  the 
witchery  of  a  long,  still,  sunny  sunmicr  day." 

His  liiin  hand  nestled  in  her  shining  hair, 
and  she  submitted  to  the  touch  in  silence. 

"  My  dove  soared  away  from  this  dreary 
ark,  and  bathed  her  silver  wings  in  the  free 
air  of  Heaven  ;  returning  but  to  bring  me  some 
grateful  memorial,  an  olive-branch,  where- 
with to  deck  this  gloomy  ark  of  mine.  Next 
time  she  will  soar  farther,  and  find  a  more 
tempting  perch,  and  gladden  Noah's  eyes  no 
more." 

'•  If  so,  it  will  be  because  the  high  and  dry 
laud  of  God  beckons  her  ;  and  when  the  deluge 
is  ended,  she  will  be  needed  no  longer." 

"  For,  tlien,  Elcctra,  Noahs  haven  of  rest 
■will  be  the  fair  still  fields  of  Eternity." 

In  tliis  semi-metaphorle  strain  he  often  in- 
dulged of  late,  but  she  felt  little  inclination  to 
humor  the  whim,  and,  interlacing  her  slight 
fingers,  she  answered,  half  impatiently  : 

"  Your  simile  is  all  awry,  sir.  Most  unfortu- 
nately, 1  have  nothing  dove  -  like  iu  my 
nature." 

"  Originally  you  had,  but  your  character 
has  been  warped." 

"  By  what,  or  whom  ?" 

•'  Priniatily,  by  unhappy  extraneous  circum- 
stances, influences  if  you  will,  which  contribut- 
ed to  a  diseased  development  of  two  passions, 
that  now  preponderate  over  all  other  elements 
of  your  character." 

"  A  diagnosis  which  I  will  not  accept." 

•'  A  true  one,  nevertheless,  my  child." 

"  Possibly ;  but  we  will  waive  a  discussion 
just  now.  1  am,  and  always  intend  to  be,  true 
to  the  nature  which  (iod  gave  me." 

"  A  dangerous  dogma  that.  Eleetra»  how 
do  you  know  that  the  '  nature'  you  fondle  and 
plume  yourself  upon,  emanated  from  your 
Maker  V" 

"  How  do  you  know,  sir,  that  God  intended 
that  willows  should  droo]),  and  trail  their  slen- 


der boughs  earthward,  while  poplars,  like 
granite-shafts,  shoot  up,  lifting  their  silver- 
shimmering  leaflets  ever  to  the  clouds  ?  Who 
fingered  their  germs,  «and  directed  their 
course  ?' 

"  The  analogy  will  not  hold  between  the 
vegetable  kingdom  and  the  moral  and  intel- 
lectual sphe/es.  Men  and  women  are  not  east 
in  particular  moulds,  bound  by  iron  laws,  and 

labelled,  like  plants  or  brutes.  Genus  , 

Species .     Moreover,  to  man  alone  w<is 

given  free  agency,  even  to  the  extent  of 
uprooting,  crushing  entirely  the  original  im- 
pulses implanted  by  God  in  the  human  heart 
to  let  as  motive  power.  I  have  known  peo[ite 
insane  enough  to  pluck  out  the  wheat,,  and 
culture,  into  rank  luxuriance,  the  tares  in 
their  nature.  '^  Child,  do  you  ever  look  ahead 
to  the  coming  harvest-time  '.'" 

"  If  I  do,  it  contents  me  to  know  that  each 
soul  binds  up  its  own  sheaves." 

"  No;  angels  are  reapers,  and  make  up  the 
account  fjr  the  Lord  of  the  harvest." 

"  I  don't  believe  that.  No  third  party  has 
any  vo.ice  in  that  last,  long  n-ckoning.  God 
and  the  creature  Ofily  see  the  balance-sheet." 

She  rose,  and,  leaning  against  the  mantle, 
put  out  her  hand  to  caress  tiie  solemn-eyexl 
solitary  pet  of  the  studio.  How  he  came  to  be 
tke  solace  and  companion  of  the  artist  she  had 
never  been  told,  but  knew  that  a  strange  fel- 
lowship linked  the  gray  old  favorite  with  the 
master,  and  wondered  at  the  almost  human 
vxpression  witii  which  it  sometimes  looked 
from  its  lofty  pedestal  upon  the  languid 
movements  of  the  painter.  "  Muniu"  was 
the  name  he  ever  recognized  and  answered 
to,  and,  when  she  one  day  repeated  it  to  her- 
self, puzzling  over  its  significance,  Air.  Clifton 
told  her  that  it  meant  "memory,"  in  Scandina- 
vian lore,  and  belonged  to  one  of  the  favorite 
birds  of  Odin.  It  was  one  of  his  many  strange 
whims,  fostered  by  life-long  researches  among 
the  mythologies  of  the  Old  World;  andElectra 
struggled  to  overcome  the  undefinable  ixcnsa- 
tion  of  awe  and  repulsion  which  crept  over 
her  whenever  she  met  that  fascinating  stare 
fixed  upon  her.  As  little  love  had  the  bird  for 
her,  and,  though  occasionally  itsettled  upon  the 
cross-beam  of  her  easel,  and  watched  the  slow 
motion  of  her  brush,  they  seemed  to  shrink 
from  each  other.  Now,  as  her  soft  hand 
touched  liis  feathers,  they  rumpled,  bristled, 
and  he  flitted  to  the  artist's  knee,  uttering  a 
hoarse,  prolonged,  most  melancholy  note,  as 
the  master  caressed  him. 

"  Why  are  not  you  and  Muniu  better 
friends ':"' 

"  Because  I  am  not  wise  enough,  or  evil-bod- 
ing in  appearance,  or  sufhciently  owIit;b  to 
suit  him,  I  sujipose.  He  chills  my  blood  some- 
times, when  I  come  here,  in  twilight,  before 
the  gas  is  lighted.  I  would  ^Imost  as  soon 
confront  Medusa." 

Shu  took  from  the  curious  oval  mosaic  table 


66 


MACARIA. 


a  new  book  containing  her  mark,  and  reseaXed 
herst^lf.  As  she  did  so,  Munin  flapped  his 
dasky  wings  and  disappeared  through  the  door 
opening  into  the  hall,  and,  shading  her  face 
■with  one  hand,  she  read  aloud  a  passage 
heavily  underlined  by  a  pencil. 

'' '  But  this  poor,  miserable  Me  !  Is  thh,  then, 
all  the  book  I  have  got  to  read  about  (iod  in  ?' 
Yes,  truly  so.  No  other  book,  nor  fragment 
of  book,  than  that  will  you  ever  find — no  vel- 
vet-bound missal,  nor  frankincensed  manu- 
script :  tjolln'ng  hieroglyphic  nor  cuneiform ; 
papyrus  and  pyramid  are  alike  .-ilent  on  this 
matter ;  nothing  in  the  clouds  above,  nor  in  the 
earth  beneath.  That  llesh-bound  volume  is  the 
only  revelation  that  is,  that  was,  or  tliat  can 
ne.  In  that  is  the  image  of  God  painted  ;  in 
that  is  the  law  of  (Jod  written  ;  in  that  is  the 
promise  of  God  revealed.  Know  thyself;  lor 
through  thyself  only  thou  canst  know  God. 
Through  the  glass  darkly  ;  but,  excej)t  through 
the  glass,  in  no  wise.  A  tremulous  crystal, 
waved  as  water,  poured  out  upon  the  ground  ; 
you  may  defile  it,  despise  it,  pollute  it  at  yonr 
pleasure,  and  at  your  peril:  for  on  the  peace 
of  those  weak  waves  must  all  the  heaven  you 
Khali  ever  gain  be  first  seen,  and  througji  such 
purity  as  you  can  win  for  those  dark  waves 
must  all  the  light  of  the  risen  Sun  of  Bri<:;ht- 
ruess  be  bent  down  by  faint  refraction.  Cleanse 
them,  and  calm  them,  as  you  love  your  life." 

"  Mr.  Clifton,  this  epitomizes  my  creed. 
There  is  nothing  new  in  it ;  I  grant  you  it  is  old 
as  the  Delphian  inscription.  Two  thousand 
years  ago  .Socrates  preached  it  in  the  Agora 
at  .\thens.  Now  it  shakes  off  its  Greek  appa- 
rel, and  comes  to  tiiis  generation  encumbered 
in  loosely-fitting  English  garments — immemo- 
rial Truth  peering  through  modern  masks." 

lie  regarded  her  with  an  expression  of"  sor- 
rowful tenderness,  and  his  hand  trembled  as  he 
placed  it  upon  her  head. 

"  This  darling  creed,  this  infallible  egotism 
of  yours,  will  fail  you  in  the  day  of  fierce  trial. 
Pagai^  that  you  are,  I  know  not  what  is  to 
bceoiii3  of  you.  Oh,  Electra  !  if  you  would 
only  be  warned  ia  time." 

The  warmth  of  the  room  had  vermilioned 
her  chcek.s,  and  the  long  black  lashes  failed  to 
veil  in  any  degree  the  flash  of  the  eyes  she 
raised  to  his  face.  Removing  the  hand  from 
her  head,  she  took  it  in  both  hers,  and  a  cold, 
dauntless  smile  wreathed  her  lips. 

"Be  easy  on  my  account.  1  am  not  afi-aid 
of  my  future.  Why  sliould  I  be?  (jod  built 
an  arsenal  in  every  soul  belbre  he  launched  it 
on  the  stormy  sea  of  Time,  and  the  key  to  mine 
is  Will!  I  am  young  and  healthy  ;  the  rich 
purple  blood  bubbles  through  my  veins  like 
Chian  wine ;  and,  with  my  heritage  of  poverty 
and  obscurity,  I  look  fortune's  favorites  in  the 
eye,  and  dare  them  to  retard  or  crush  mo.  A 
vast  caravan  of  mighty  souls,  '  Whose  distant 
footsteps  echo  down  the  corridors  of  Time,' 
have  gone  before  me ;  and  step  by  step  I  tramp 


'  after.  What  woman  has  done,  woman  may 
do;  a  glorious  sisterhood  of  artists  heckou 
I  me  on  ;  what  Elizabeth  Cheron,  Sibylla  Me- 
I  rian,  Angelica  Kauffman,  Elizabeth  Le  Brun, 
j  Felicie  Fauveau,  and  Rosa  Bonheur  have 
j  achieved,  I  also  will  accomplish,  or  die  in  the 
j  effort.  These  travelled  no  royal  road  to  im- 
'  mortality,  but  rugged,  thorny  paths  ;  and  who 
shall  stay  my  feet  V  Afar  olf  gleams  my  rcst- 
'  ing  place,  but  ambition  scourges  me  unflag- 
;  gingly  on.  Do  not  worry  about  my  future  ;  I 
i  will  take  care  of  it,  and  of  m^-selt'.'' 
j  "  And  when,  after  years  of  toil,  you  win 
fame,  even  fame  enough  to"  satisfy  your  large 
I  expectations,  what  tiieu  ?  Whither  will  you 
I  look  for  happiness  ?" 

''  I  will  grapple  fame  to  my  empty  heart, 
j  a-s  women  do  other  idols." 

"  It  will  freeze  you,  my  dear  child.  Re- 
I  member  the  mournful  verdict  which  Dante 
!  gave  the  world  through  the  lips  of  Oderigi : 

j  ....  .        .  "  Cimahue  tliouglit 

I  To  loiil  it  over  painting's  field;  niul  now  j 

The  cry  is  Giotto's,  and  liis  name  enlipsed. 
Thus  liath  oiicOuido  from  tlio  othor  bnatc^hed 
The  lettered  i)rl7.e:   an<i  he,  perhiipg,  ia  born, 
Who  shall  drive  either  from  tlieir  nest.    Tlie  noise 
Of  wordly  fame  is  but  a  blast  of  wind, 
That  blows  n-om  divers  points  and  shifts  its  name, 
ijhifting  the  point  it  blows  from." 

"  And,  Electra,  that  chill  blast  will  wail 
throuch  your  lonely  heart,  chanting  a  requiem 
over  the  trampled,  dead  hopes  that  might  have 
garlanded  your  life.  Be  warned,  oh  I  daugh- 
ter of  Agamemnon  ! 

"    Tlie  earth  hath  bubbles  as  the  water  hath, 
And  this  is  of  them.'  " 

"  At  all  events,  I  will  risk  it.  Thank  God  ! 
whatever  other  faults  I  confess  to,  there  is  no 
taint  of  cowardice  in  my  soul." 

She  rose,  and  stood  a  moment  on .  the  rug, 
looking  into  the  red  net-work  of  coals,  then 
turned  to  leave  him,  saying  : 

"  I  nmst  go  to  your  mother  now,  and  pres- 
ently 1  will  bring  your  tea." 

"  You  need  not  trouble.  I  can  go  to  the 
dining-room  to-night." 

"  It  is  no  trouble  ;  it  gives  mc  great  pleasure 
to  do  something  for  your  comfort ;  and  I  know 
you  always  enjoy  your  supper  more  when 
you  have  it  here." 

As  she  closed  the  door,  he  pressed  his  face 
against  the  morocco  lining  and  groaned  un- 
consciously, and  large  glittering  tears,  creep- 
ing from  beneath  the  treml)ling  lashes,  hid 
themselves  in  the  curling  brown  beard. 

To  see  that  Mrs.  Clifton's  supper  suited  her, 
and  then  to  read  aloud  to  her  lor  half  an  hour 
from  the  worn  family  bible,  was  part  of  the 
daily  routine  which  Electra  permitted  nothing 
to  interrupt.  On  this  occasion  she  found  the 
old  lady  seated,  as  usual,  before  the  fire,  her 
crutches  leaning  against  the  chair,  and  her 
fWorite  cat  curled  on  the  carpet  at  her  feet. 
I\Iost  tenderly  did  the  aged  cripple  love  her 


MACARIA. 


G7 


son's  proterjp'p.,  and  tbe  wrinkled  sallow  face 
lighted  up  with  a  smile  of  pleasure  at  her  en- 
trance. 

*'  I  thought  it  was  al^out  time  for  you  to 
come  to  mc.  Sit  down,  dear,  and  touch  the 
bell  for  Kate.     How  is  Harry  V" 

"No  stronger,  I  am  afraid.  You  know  this 
is  very  bad  weather  lor  him." 

"  Yes  ;  when  he  came  up  to-day  I  thought 
ho  looked  more  feeble  than  I  had  ever  seen 
him  ;  and,  as  I  sit  here  and  listen  to  liis  hollow 
cough,  every  sound  seems  a  stab  at  my  heart." 
She  rocked  herself  to  and  fro  for  a  moment, 
and  "added,  mournfully : 

"  Ah,  child  !  it  is  so  hard  to  see  my  young- 
est boy  going  down  to  the  grave  before  me. 
The  last  of  five,  I  hoped  lie  would  survive  me, 
but  consumption  is  a  terrible  thing ;  it  took  my 
husband  first,  then,  in  quick  sncce.ssion,  ray 
other 'children,  and  now  Harry,  my  darling, 
my  youngest,  is  the  last  prey."  - 

Anxious  to  divert  her  mind,  Electra  adroitly 
changed  the  conversation,  and,  when  she  rose 
to  say  good-night,  sometime  after,  had  the  sat- 
isfaction of  knowing  that  the  old  lady  iiad 
fallen  asleep.  It  was  in  vain  that  she  arranged 
several  tempting  dishes  on  the  table  beside 
the  painter,  and  coaxed  him  to  partake  of 
them ;  he  received  but  a  cup  of  tea  from  her 
hand,  and  motioned  the  remainder  away.  As 
the  servant  removed  the  tray  he  looked  up  at 
his  pupil,  and  said  : 

"  Please  wheel  the  lounge  irearer  to  the 
grate;  I  am  too  tired  to  sit  up  to-night." 

She  complied  at  once,  shook  up  the  pillow, 
and,  as  he  laid  his  head  upon  it,  she  spread 
his  heavy  plaid  shawl  over  him. 

"  Now,  sir,  Avhat  shall  I  read  this  evening  '?" 

'■'■Arcana  Cwlestia"  if  you  please." 

She  took  up  the  volume,  and  began  at  the 
place  he  designated;  and,  as  she  read  on  and 
on,  her  rich  Jlexible  voice  rose  and  fell  upon 
the  air  like  waves  of  melody.  One  of  her 
liands  chanced  to  hang  over  the  arm  of  the 
chair,  and  as  .she  sat  near  the  lounge,  thin 
hot  fingers  twined  about  it,  drew  it  caressingly 
to  the  pillow,  and  held  it  tightly.  Her  first 
impulse  was  to  withdraw  it.  and  an  expression 
of  annoyance  crossed  her  features ;  but,  on 
second  thought,  she  suffered  her  fingers  to  rest 
passively  in  his.  Now  and  then,  as  she  turned 
a  leaf,  she  met  his  luminous  eyes  fastened  upon 
iier ;  but  after  a  time  the  quick  breathing  at- 
tracted her  attention,  ami,  looking  down,  she 
saw  tiiat  he,  too,  was  sleeping.  She  closed  the 
book  and  remained  quiet,  fearful  of  disturbing 
him ;  and  as  she  studied  the  weary,  fevered 
face,  noting  the  march  of  disease,  the  sorrow-, 
ful  drooping  of  the  mouth,  so  indicative  of 
grievous  disappointment,  a  new  and  holy  ten- 
derness awoke  in  her  heart.  It  was  a  feeling 
analogous  to  that  of  a  mother  for  a  suffering 
child,  who  can  be  soothed  onlj'  by  her  presence 
and  caresses — an  afl'ection  not  unfre^uently 
kindled  in  haughty  natures  by  the  entire  de- 


pendence of  a  weaker  one.  Blended  with 
this  was  a  remorseful  consciousness  of  the 
coldness  Avith  which  she  had  persistently  re- 
jected, repulsed  every  manifestation  of  his 
devoted  love ;  and,  winding  her  fingers  through 
his  long  hair,  she  vowed  an  atonement  for  the 
past  in  increased  gentleness  for  the  remainder 
of  his  waning  life.  As  she  bent  over  hinj, 
wearing  her  compas.sion  in  her  face,  he  opened 
his  eyes  and  looked  at  her. 

"  How  long  have  I  slept?" 

"Nearly  an  hour.  How  do  you  feel  since 
\T)ur  nap  V" 

He  made  no  reply,  and  she  put  her  hand  on 
his  tbrehead.  Tbe  countenance  lighted,  and 
he  said,  slowly : 

"  Ah!  yes,  press  your  cool  soft  little  palm 
on  my  brow.  It  seems  to  still  the  throbbing 
in  my  temples."' 

"  It  is  late,  Mr.  Clifton,  and  I  must  leave 
you.  William  looked  in,  a  few  minute*  since, 
to  say  that  the  fire  burned  in  your  room,  but  I 
would  not  wake  you.  I  will  send  him  to  vou. 
Good- night." 

She  leaned  down  voluntarily  and  kissed 
him,  and,  with  a  quick  movement,  lie  folded  her 
to  his  heart  an  instant,  then  released  her, 
murmuring,  huskily:  - 

"  God  bl(!ss  you,  Electra,  and  reward  you  for 
your  j)atient  endurance.  (Jood  -  night,  my 
precious  child."    • 

She  went  to  her  own  room,  all  unconscious 
of  the  burst  of  emotion  which  shook  the  feeble 
frame  of  the  painter,  long  after  she  had  laid 
her  head  on  her  pillow  in  the  sound  slumber 
of  healthful  vouth. 


CHAPTER  xry. 

The  year  that  ensued  proved  a  valuable 
school  of  patience,  ami  taught  the  young  artist 
a  gentleness  of  tone  and  quietude  of  man- 
ner at  variance  with  the  naiural  impetuosity 
of  her  character.  Irksome  beyond  degree 
was  the  discipline  to  which  she  subjected  "her- 
self, but,  with  a  fixedness  of  purpose  that  knew 
no  wavering,  she  walked  through  the  daily 
dreary  routine,  keeping  her  eyes  upon  tlie  end 
that  slowly  but  unmistakably  approached.  In 
mid-summer  Mr.  Clifton  removed,  for  a  few 
weeks,  to  the  Catskill,  and  occasionally  he 
rallied  for  a  few  hours,  with  a  tenacity  of 
strength  almost  miraculous.  During  the  still 
sunny  afternoons  hosts  of  gay  vi.iitors,  sum- 
mer tourists,  ofYen  paused  in  their  excursions' 
to  Avatch  the  emaciated  form  of  the  painter 
leaning  on  the  arm  of  his  beautiful  pupil,  or 
reclining  on  a  lichen-carpeted  knoll  while  she 
sketched  the  surrounding  scenery.  Increased 
feebleness  prevented  Mrs.  Clifton  from  joinin<^ 
in  these  out-door  jaunts,  and  early  in  Septem- 
ber, when  it  became  apparent  that  iier  mind 
was  rapidly  sinking  into  imbecility,  they  re- 


68 


MACAIIIA. 


turned  to  tlic  city.  Wcmory  scemod  to  have 
deputed  its  tlironi.' ;  slio  knew  neither  her  son 
nor  I'Jeetra,  and  tlielast  j-park  of  intcllijjencc 
mani.'osted  itself  in  a  senii-recoinition  of  her 
favoiie  eat,  whirli  spranjj  to  welcome  her 
l>ack  iiS  friendly  hands  bore  lier  to  the  cUara- 
Imt^Iu-  was  to  (juit  no  more  till  death  released 
the  crii  lii'd  spirit.  A  letter  was  found  on  the 
ntclier  iiantle,  directed  to  Klectra  in  familiar 
charact'  ■  -,  wiiieh  slie  had  not  seen  for  months. 
Very  i\\\'.'  tly  she  put  it  in  her  pocket,  and  in 
the  soiitii  ii:  of  her  room  broke  the  seal;  found 
t!iat  Ku:-si  il  had  returned  durin;:  her  absence, 
had  spent  a  morning  in  the  studio  looking  over 
her  work,  and  had  gone  south  to  establish 
himself  in  his  native  town.  Ah  !  the  grievous, 
grievous  disappointment.  A  hitter  cry  rolled 
iiom  her  lips,  and  the  hands  wrung  each  other 
«lespairingly  ;  but  an  hour  later  slie  stood  be- 
side the  artist,  with  unrnlUud  brow  and  a 
serene  mouth,  that  bore  nosurlace-token  of  the 
Forrow  gnawing  at  her  heart.  Winter  came 
on  earlier  than  usual,  with  unwonted  severity  ; 
and,  week  after  week,  Klectra  went  continu- 
ally from  one  sufferer  to  another,  striving  to 
alleviate  pain,  and  to  kindle  a  stray  beam  of 
sunshine  in  the,  darkened  mansion.  As  one 
living  thing  in  a  cliarnei-house  she  Uitted  from 
room  to  room,  sometimes  shrinking  trom  her 
own  shadow,  that  glided  before  her  on  the 
]iolished  wall  as  she  went  up  and  down  stairs 
in  the  dead  of  night.  Unremitted  vigil  set  its 
pale,  infallible  signet  on  her  face,  but  Mr.  Clif- 
ton either  could  not  or  would  not  see  tlie  pain- 
ful alteration  in  her  aj)pearancc ;  and  when 
Mrs.  Young  remonstrated  witii  her  niece  upon 
the  ruinous  eflects  of  this  tcilious  confineu>ent 
to  the  house,  she  only  answered,  steadily  :  '"  I 
will  nurse  him  so  long  as  I  have  strength  left 
to  creep  from  one  room  to  another." 

During  Christmas  week  he  grew  alarmingly 
worse,  ami  Dr.  Leltoy  counted  the  waning  lite 
by  hours;  but  on  New  Year's  eve  he  declared 
himself  aluiost  well,  and  insisted  on  being 
carried  to  the  studio.  Tlie  whim  was  humor- 
ed, and,  wrapped  in  his  silken  rube  de  chaiubrc, 
he  was  sealed  in  his  large  cushioned  chair, 
smiling  to  find  himself  once  moie  in  the  midst 
of  his  treasures.  Tuining  back  the  velvet 
cufl'  from  his  attenuated  wrist,  he  lifted  his 
Hushed  face  toward  the  nurse,  and  said,  eager- 
ly: "Uncover  my  easel;  make  \\'iUiam  draw 
it  close  to  me;  1  have  been  idle  long  enough. 
Give  me  my  palette;!  want  to  retouch  the 
forehead  of  my  hero.     It  needs  a  high  light." 

"  You  are  not  stroni;  enoujih  to  work.  Wait 
till  to-morrow. 

"  To-morrow  !  to-morrow  !  You  have  told 
me  that  fifty  times.  Wheel  up  the  easel,  I 
say.     The  spell  is  upon  me,  and  work  1  will." 

It-was  the  'ruling  passion  strong  in  death,' 
and  Eleetra  acquiesced,  arranging  the  colors 
on  the  palette  as  he  directed,  and  select- 
ing the  brushes  he  required.  Keating  his  feet 
upon  the  cross-beam,  he  leaned  forward  and 


gazed  earnestly  upon  his  master-picee,  th« 
darling  design  which  had  haunted  his  brain 
for  yeans.  '-Theta"  he  called  this  piece  of 
canvas,  which  was  a  large  square  painting 
representing,  in  the  foreground,  the  death  of 
So-rates.  Around  the  reclining  form  of  the 
philosopher  clustered  Apollodorus,  Cebcs, 
.Simmias,  and  Crito.  and  through  the  window 
of  the  prison  came  the  last  slanting,  quiver- 
ing ray  of  the  setting  sun,  showing  the  street 
beyond,  whrre,  against  the  stom*  wall,  near  a 
gleaming  guardian  Hermes,  huddled  a  moutn- 
lu! group — Xantippeand  her  weej)i;ig  children. 
The  details  of  the  piiture  were  finished  witli 
pre-li;iphaelite  precision  and  minuteness — the 
sweep  and  folds  of  drapery  about  the  couch, 
the  emptied  hemlock  cup — but  the  central 
figure  of  the  Martyr  lacked  something,  and  to 
ihesc  last  touches  Mr.  Clifton  ess:\yed  to  ad- 
dress himselt'.v  Slowly,  feebly,  the  transparent 
hand  wandered  over  the  canvas,  and  Klectra 
heard  with  alarm  the  labored  breath  that 
came  panting  from  his  parted  lips.  She  saw 
the  unnatural  sparkle  in  his  sunken  eyes 
almost  die  out,  the:i  leap  up  again,  like  smould- 
ering embers  swept  by  a  sudden  gust,  and,  in 
the  clear  strong  voice  of  other  years,  he  re- 
peated to  himself  the  \ktTy  words  of  IMato'u 
I'hffido :  "Fori  have  heard  that  it  is  right  to 
die  with  good  omens,  lie  (juiet,  therefore,  and 
bear  up." 

Leaning  back  to  note  the  cfFect  of  his 
touches,  a  shiver  ran  through  his  frame,  the 
brush  fell  from  his  tremulous  fingers,  and  he 
lay  motionless  and  exhausted. 

Klectra  threw  up  the  sash,  that  the  wintry 
air  migiit  revive  him  ;  and  as  the  red  glare  of 
declining  day  streame(,l  down  from  the  sky- 
light upon  the  group,  she  looked  from  thc'eq.sy 
eliair  to  the  canvas,  and  mutely  (juestioned : 
"  Which  is  most  thanatoid — painter  or  paint- 
ed V" 

Folding  his  hands  like  a  helpless,  tired  child, 
he  raised  his  eyes  to  hers  and   said,  brokenly: 

"1  be(jueath  it  to  you;  finish  my  work. 
You  uiulerstand  me — you  know  what  is  lack- 
ing; finish  my  ♦  Theta,'  and  tell  the  world  1  died 
at  work  upon  it.  Oh  !  for  a  fraction  of  my  old 
strength  !  One  hour  more  to  complete  my  So- 
crates !    Just  one  hour  1  1  would  ask  no  more." 

She  tried  to  persuade  him  to  return  to  hiii 
own  room,  but  he  obalinately  refused,  and 
when  she  insisted,  he  answered,  pleadingly : 
'•  No,  no ;  let  me  stay  here.  Do  let  me  bo  quiet 
here.     I  hate  that  gloomy,  tomb-like  room." 

She  gave  him  a  powerful  cordial  which  the 
physician  had  left,  and  having  arranged  the 
l^illows  on  the  lounge,  drew  it  close  to  th« 
easel,  and  prevailed  on  him  to  lie  down. 

A  servant  was  desj)atched  for  Dr.  Le  lloj, 
but  returned  to  say  that  a  dangerous  case  de- 
tained him  elsewhere. 

"  Mr.  Clifton,  would  you  like  to  have  your 
mother  brought  down  stairs  and  placed  besido 
you  for  a  while  ?" 


MACARIA. 


69 


"  No ;  I  want  nobody  but  you.  Sit  down 
here  close  to  me,  and  koep  quiet." 

She  lowered  t'le  lieavy  curtains,  shaded  the 
gas-globe,  and,  ph-icing  a  bunch  of  sweet  violets 
on  his  pillow,  sat  down  at  liia  side.  His  favor- 
ite sjjaniel  nestled  at  lier  feet,  and  occasion- 
ally threw  uj)  liis  head  and  gazed  wistfully  at 
his  master.  Thns  two  hours  passed,  and  as 
ithe  rose  to  administer  the  medicine  he  waved 
it  off,  saying: 

,  "  Give  me  no  more  of  it.  I  won't  be  drug- 
jffed  in  my  last  hours.  I  won't  have  my  intel- 
lect clouded  by  opiates.  Throw  it  into  the 
fire,  and  let  me  rest." 

"  Oil,  sir!  can  I  do  nothing  for  you  ?" 
^"Yes;  read  to  me.     Your  voice   lulls  me. 
Kead  me  that  letter  of  lambtichus  to  Agatho- 
des,  which  I  marked  last  summer." 

She  read  it,  and,  without  questioning,  laid 
*he  book  aside  and  took  up  a  volume  of  Jacob 
Behnien,  of  which  he  was  very  fond,  selecting, 
here  and  there,  passages  designated  by  pencil 
marks,  lie  had  long  revelled  among  the  echo- 
iess  abysses  of  dim,  medieval  mystical  lore,  and, 
strange  as  it  may  appear,  the  quaint  old  books 
preserved  their  epell  and  riveted  the  wander- 
ing mind,  even  on  the  verge  of  dissolution. 
8he  knew  that  CorneHus- Acrippa,  Theo- 
phrastus  Paracelsus,  anrl  Swedenborg  held" 
singular  mastery  over  him;  but  she  shrank 
from  all  these  now,  as  though  they  had  been 
bound  in  flames,  and  a  yearning  to  comfort 
him  from  the  sacred  lips'of  Jewish  prophets 
and  apostles  took  possession  of  her.  Passages 
^•liich  she  had  read  to  her  blind  aunt  came 
back  to  her  now,  ringing  trump(;t-toned  in  her 
^i;s,  and  she  rose  to  bring  a  bible  from  Mrs. 
<^itton's  room. 


\V 


iiere  are  vou  jroinj  ?' 


"  To  your  mother's  room,  for  a  moment 
onily.^    I  want  a  book  which  I  left  there." 

"Sit  still.  Do  not  leave  me,  I  beg  of  you." 
He  drew  her  -back  to  the  seat,  and  after  a 
•hort  silence  said,  slowly  : 

"  Klectj:a,  are  you  afraid  of  death  7" 

**  No,  sir." 

•♦  Do  you  know  that  T  am  dying  ?" 

**!  have  .seen  you  as  ill  several  times  be- 
fcre." 

"  You  are  a  brave,  strong-hearted  child  ; 

fef^azed  eyes  and  stiffened  limbs  will  not 
righten  you.  I  have  but  few  hours  to  live ; 
put  your  hand  in  mine,  and  promise  me  that 
you  will  sit  here  till  my  soul  quits  its  clay 
jrison.  Will  you  watch  with  me  the  deatii  of 
he  year  V  Are  you  afraid  to  stay  with  me, 
Mid  8ee  me  iVw  V" 

She  would  not  trust  herself  to  speak',  but 
aid  her  hand  in  his  and  clasped  it  firmly.  He 
^iled,  and  added  : 

"Will  you  promise  to  call  no  one  ?  I  want 
10  eyes  but  yours  to  watch  me  as  I  die.  J.,et 
here  be  only  you  and  me." 

"  I  pronii.se." 
I  For   Bomc  moments  he  laj  motionlcs«,  but 


the  intensity  of  his  gaze  made  her  restless, 
and  she  shaded  her  fiice. 

"  Electra,  my  davliug,  your  martyrdom 
draws  to  a  close.  I  have  been  merciless  in  my 
exactions,  I  know  ;  you  are  worn  to  a  shadow, 
anil  your  face  is  sharp  and  haggard  ;  but  you 
will  forgive  me  all,  when  the  willows  of  Green- 
w^ood  trail  their  boughs  across  my  head-stone. 
You  have  been  faithful  and  uncomplainin"'; 
you  have  been  to  me  a  light,  a  joy,  and'^a 
glory  !  God  bless  you,  my  pupil,  'i'here  waa 
a  time  when,  looking  "at  the  future  that 
stretched  before  you,  rshuddere,d  on  your  ac- 
count. Since  then  I  have  learned  to  know 
you  better  ;  I  feel  assured  your  nature  will  be 
equal  to  its  trials.  You  can  conquer  difficul- 
ties, and,  better  still,  you  can  work  and  live 
alone ;  you  can  conquer  your  own  heart.  I 
am  passing  to  a  higher,  purer,  happier  sphere; 
but  my  spirit  will  hover  constantjy  around 
you  here,  in  the  midst  of  your  work,  overlook- 
ing you  continually,  as  in  the  days  that  have 
gone  by.  I  have  one  request  to  make  of 
you,  and  unliesitatingly  I  make  it:  remain  in 
this  house,  and  watch  over  my  poor  mother's 
last  hours  as  you  watched  over  and  cheered 
mine.  It  is  a  heavy  burden  to  lay  upon  you  ; 
but  you  have  patiently  borne  as  heavy,  and  I 
have  no  fear  that  you  will  desert  her  when 
the  last  of  her  sons  sleep  under  marble.  She 
^yill  never  know  that  I  have  gone  before  her 
till  we  meet  in  another  world.  In  my  vest- 
pocket  is  the  key  of  my  writing-desk.  "There 
you  will  find  my  will ;  take  charge  of  it,  and 
put  it  in  Le  Roy's  hands  as  soon  as  possible. 
Give  me  some  water." 

She  held  the  glass  to  his  lips,  and,  as  he  sank 
back,  a  bright  smile  phiyed  over  his  face. 

"  Ah,  child  !  it  is  such  a  comfort  to  have  you 
here — you  are  so  inexpressibly  dear  to  me." 

She  took  his  thin  hands  in  hers,  and  hot 
tears  fell  upon  them.  An  intolerable  weight 
crushed  her  heart,  a  half- defined,  horribly 
dread,  and  she  asked,  falteringly: 

"  Are  you  willing  to  die  ?  Is  your  soul  at 
peace  with  God  ?  Have  you  any  fear  of  Eter- 
nity ?" 

*'  None,  my  child,  none." 
"  Would  you  like  to  have  Mr.  Bailey  come 
and  pray  tor  you  ?" 

"  1  want  no  one  now  but  you." 
A  long  silence  ensued,  broken  only  by  the 
heavily  drawn  breath  of  the  sufferer.  The 
memory  of  her  aunt's  trancjuil  death  haunte<l 
the  girl,  and,  finally,  the  desire  to  direct  hi.< 
thoughts  to  God  triumphcil  over  every  other 
feeling.  She  sank  on  her  knees  beside  the 
lounge,  and  a  passionate^  prayer  leaped  from 
her  pale  lips.  She  had  not  prayed  for  nearly 
four  years,  and  the  petition  went  up  to  Go«l 
framed  in  strange,  incoherent  language — a 
plaintive  cry  to  the  Father  to  release,  painless- 
ly, a  struggling  human  soul.  His  fingers  (dun(» 
spasmodically  to  hers,  and  soon  after  the  hea<i 
i  sank  on  his  chest,  and  she  saw  that  he  slept. 


70 


MACAKIA. 


The  plitterlnpr  cortene  of  const<'lIations  mov- 
'  1  solemnly  on  in  their  c-t<Tnal  march  through 
the  fields  of  heaven,  aii<l  in  mi<l-5ky  hunjj  a 
moon  of  almost  Fup  rnatural  brijrlitness,  glar- 
ing down  t!  -ky-li;iht  like  an  inquis- 
itorial eye.  .  ..- elapsed  ;  the  measured 
melancholy  li;.k  ol  the  clock  marked  the  ex- 
piring moments  of  the  old  year;  the  red  coals 
of  the  L'rate  put  on  their  rohe  of  ashes;  the 
ga.«-li;.'ht  burned  dimly,  and  flickered  now  and 
then  as  the  wind  surged  through  the  partially 
opened  window;  and  there  by  the  couch  sat 
the  moti(»nIess  watcher,  noting  tlie.  indescriba- 
ble but  unmistakable  change  cree[)ing  on,  lik(> 
thesiiadow  which  slowly-sailing  .summer  clouds 
cast  down  njxjn  green  meadows  or  Howery 
hill-sides,  darkening  the  landscape.  The  fee- 
ble, thread-like  puls<>  fluttered  irregularly,  but 
the  breathing  became  easy  and  low  as  a  babe's, 
and  occajionally  a  gentle  sigh  heaved  the 
chest.  Once  his  lips  had  moved,  and  she 
caught  the  intlistinct  words — "Discreet   de- 

gr^'es." ,  "influx  ,"  "  type-crea- 

.  ture,"  S!i(t  knew  that  the  end  was  at  hand, 
and  a  strained,  frightened  expression  came 
into  her  large  eyes  as  she  glanced  nervously 
round  the  room,  weird  and  awful  in  its  gloomy 
surroundings.  The  damp  masses  of  hair  dung 
to  her  temples,  and  she  felt  heavy  drops  gath- 
ering on  her  forehead,  as  in  that  glam-e  she 
met  the  solemn  fascinating  eyes  of  Munin 
staring  at  her  from  the  low  mantle.  She 
caught  her  breath,  and  the  deep  silence  was 
broken  by  the  mctallictongue  that  dirged  out 
"  twelve."  The  last  stroke  of  the  bronze 
hammer  echoed  drearily  ;  the  ohl  year  lay  stark 
and  cold  on  its  bier;  ^lunin  flapped  his  dusky 
wings  with  a  long,  sejJuUrhral,  blood-iurdlini^ 
hool,  and  the  tlying  man  opened  his  ilim,  fail- 
ing eyes,  and  fixed  them  for  the  last  time  on 
his  pupil. 

"  Electra,  my  darling."  ' 

"  My  dear  master,  I  am  here." 

She  lilted  his  head  to  her  bosom,  nestled  her 
fingeis  into  his  cohl  palm,  and  leaned  her 
cheek  against  his  brow.  Pressing  his  fin-e 
close  to  hers,  the  gray  eyes  closed,  and  a  smile 
throned 'itself  on  the  parted  lips.  A  slight 
tremor  shook  the  limbs,  a  soil  shuddering 
breath  swept  across  the,  watcher's  face,  aiul 
the  "  golden-bowl  "  was  shivered,  the  "  silver 
cord  "  was  loosed. 

She  sat  there  till  the  iciness  of  the  rigid 
(form  chilled  her,  then  laid  the  head  tenderly 
down  on  its  pillow,  and  walked  to  the  manlle- 
piece.  The  Angel  of  Time  lifted  the  hammer 
and  struck  "  one  ; '  and  as  she  glanced  acci- 
dentally at  the  in.'<cription  on  the  base,  she 
remembered  a  favorite  quotation  which  it  had 
oflcn  called  from  the  cold  lips  of  the  dead 
»    paint4;r :  '  .       ^ 

"  Time  \t  my  fair  scpj-flold,  of  Time  I  'm  lie ir." 

The  seed-time  had  ended ;  the  calm  fields  of 
eternity  stretched  before  hiai  now  ;  the  fruits 


of  the   harvfst  were   required  at  his  hand.'i. 

Were  they  full  of  ripe  golden  sheaves,  or . 

She  shrank  from  her  own  questioning,  atKl 
looked  over  her  shoulder  at  the  dreamier, 
smiling  sleeper. 


"It; 

T 

1m. 


ITie  vigil  .was  over,  tlic  burden  was  lifted 
from  her  shouldrrs,  the  w«'ary  ministry  here 
endeil  ;  and,  shrouding  her  face  in  her  acuis, 
the  louely  woman  wept  bitterly. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Four  years  had  wrought  material  changes 

in  the  town  of  W ;  new  streets  had  been 

opened,  new  buildings  erected,  new  forms  tnxl 
the  side-v/alks,  newVaces  looked  out  of  shop- 
windows  and  flashing  equipages,  and  new 
shafts  of  granite  ami  marble  stood  in  the  cem(>- 
tery  to  tell  of  many  who  had  been  gatherefl  to 
their  forefathers.  The  old  red  school-houi»e, 
where  two  generations  had  been  tutored,  was 
swept  away  to  make,  place  for  a  railroad  de- 
pot ;  and,  instead  of  the  venerable  trees  that 
once  overshailowed  its  precincts,  bristling  walls 
of  brick  and  mortar  rang  with  the  shrill  whis- 
tle of  the  engini!,  or  the  sharp  continual  click 
of  repairing-sliops.  The  wild  shout,  the  rip- 
pling laugh  of  carele.ss,  childish  glee  were 
banished,  and  the  frolicsome  flock  of  by-gone 
years  had  grown  to  manhood  and  womanhood, 
were  sedate  business  men  and  sober  matrons. 
If  inqiortant  revolutions  had  been  etlected  in 
her  early  home,  not  less  decided  and  apparent 
was  the  change  which  had  taken  place  in  the 
heiress  of  Iluutingdon  Hill  ;  and  having  been 
eyed,  questioned,  scrutini/i'd  by  the  best  fami- 
lies, and  laid  in  the  soeial  scales,  it  was  found 
a  diflicnit  matter  to  determine  her  weight  iw 
accurately  as  seemed  desirable.  In  conunou 
parlance,  "  her  education  w.us  finisiied" — she 
was  regularly  and  unmistakably  "  out."  Eve- 
rybody hastened  td  inspect  her,  sound  her. 
label  her;  mothers  to  comj)are  her  with  their 
own  daughters;  daughters  to  dis(;over  how 
much  they  had  to  apprehend  in  the  charms  of 
the  new  rival;  sons  to  satisly  themselves  with 
regard  to  the  truth  of  the  rumors  concerning 
her  beauty ;  all  with  curiosity  stamped  on 
their  countenances;  all  with  dubiety  written 
there  at  the  conclusion  of  their  visit.  l*er- 
fectly  self-possess(Ml,  studiedly  polite,  attentive 
to  all  the  punctilios  of  etiquette,  jKjIished  and 
irreproachable  in  <leportment,  but  cold,  reti- 
eent,  grave,  indulging  in  no  familiarities,  and 
allowing  none;  fa.scinating  by  \w\'  extraordi- 
nary beauty  and  gr.ice.  but  tacitly  impressing 
upon  all,  "  Thus  far,  £iid  no  farther."  Having 
lost  her  aunt  two  years  before  her  return,  the 


MACARIA. 


71 


duties  of  hostess  devolved  upon  Iier,  and  she 
dispensed  the  hospitalities  of  her  home  witli 
an  easy  though  stately  eleirnnce,  surpvising  in 
one  so  inexperienced.  No  positive  charge 
eouhl  be  preferred  against  her  by  the  inquisi- 
torial circle  ;  even  Mrs.  Judge  Harris,  the  self- 
constituted,  but  universally  acknowledged,  au- 
tocrat of  beau  munde  in  W ,  accorded  her 

a  species  of  negative  excellence,  and  confess- 
ed herself  baffled,  and  unable  to  pronounce  a 
verdict.  An  enigma  to  her  own  father,  it  was 
not  wonderful  that  strangei's  knit  their  brows 
in  striving  to  analyze  her  character,  and  ere 
long  the  cooing  of  carrier-pigeons  became  au- 
dible :  "  Her  motiier  had  been  very  eccentric  ; 
even  before  her  death  it  was  whispered  that 
insanity  hung  threateningly  over  her;  strange 
things  were  told  of  her,  and,  doubtless,  Irene 
inherited  her  peculiarities."  Nature  furnishes 
some  seeds  with  downy  wings  to  insure  distri- 
bution, and  envy,  and  malice,  and  probably 
very  innocent  and  mfld-intentioncd  gossip, 
soon  provided  this  report  with  remarkable  fa- 
cilities for  progress.  It  chanced  that  Dr.  Ar- 
nold was  absent  for  some  weeks  after  her 
arrival,  and  no  sooner  had  he  returned  than 
he  sought  his  quondam  praltge'c.  Entering 
unannounced,  he  paused  suddenly  as  he  caught 
sight  of  her  standing  before  the  fire,  with 
Paragon  at  her  feet.  She  lifted  her  head  and 
came  to  meet  him,  holding  out  both  hands, 
with  a  warm,  bright  smile. 

"  Oh,  Dr.  Arnold  !  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you 
once  more.  It  was  neither  friendly  nor  hos- 
pitable to  go  off  just  as  I  came  home,  after 
long  years  of  absence.  I  am  so  very  glad  to 
see  you." 

He  held  her  hands,  and  gazed  at  her  like 
one  in  a  dream  of  mingled  pain  and  pleasure, 
and  when  he  spoke  his  voice  was  unsteady. 

'•  You  can  not  possibly  be  as  glad  to  see  me 
as  I  am  to  have  you  back.    But  I  can't  realize 
that  this  1!-.  indeed,  you,  my  pet — the  Irene  I 
j)art(!d  witli  rather  more  than  four  \(%\vs  ago. 
Child,  what  is  it  ?    What  have  you  done  to 
yourself?     I  called  yon  queen  in  your  infan- 
cy, when  you  clung  to  my  finger  and  tottered  I 
across  the  floor  to  creep  into  my  arms,  but  i 
ten-fold  more  approjiriatc  does  the  title  seem  ! 
now.     You  arc  not  the  same  Irene  who  usvd 
to  toil  up  my  office  steps^,  and  climb  upon  the  j 
t;ille.s(r  chair  to  examine  the  skeletons  in  my 
casi's — the  snakes  and  li/.ards  in  my  jars.     Oh,  j 
child!    what   a   marvellous,   what  a  gloridus  i 
beauty  you  have  grown  to  be." 

"Take  care;   you   will   spoil   her,   Arnold. 
l^on't  you  know,  you  old  <ynic,  that  women 
can't  .'^tand  such  flattery  as'yours  ?"    laughed  j 
Mr.  Huntingdon.  ^  I 

•'  I  am  glad  you  like  nic,  Doctor;  I  am  glad  | 
that  you   think  I  havi-  improved ;  and,  since  I 
vou  think  so,  I  am  obliged  to  you  for  express- 
ing your  opinion  of  me  s^  kindly.     I  wish  I 
could  return  your  complimonts,  but  my  con- 
flci^fcfa.vctoes  any  such  proceeding.     You  look 


jaded — over-worked.  What  is  the  reason  that 
you  have  grown  so  gray  and  haggard  ?  Wc 
will  enter  into  a  couipact  to  renew  the  old  life  ; 
you  shall  treat  me  exactly  as  you  used  to  do, 
and  I  shall  come  to  you  as  formerly,  and  inter- 
rupt loJjors  that  seem  too  heavy.  Sit  down, 
and  talk  to  me.  I  want  to  hear  your  voice ;  it 
is  pleasant  to  my  ears,  makes  music  in  my 
heart,  calls  up  the  by-gone.  You  have  ado}>t- 
ed  a  stick  in  my  absence  ;  I  don't  like  the  in- 
novation ;  it  hurts  me  to  think  that  you  need 
it.  1  must  take  care  of  you,  I  see,  and  per- 
suade you  to  relincpiisli  it  entirely." 

''  Arnold,  I  verily  believe  she  was  more  anx- 
ious to  see  you  than  evervboiLy  else  in  W — — 
except  old  Nellie,  her  nur.se." 

She  did  not  contradict  him,  and   the  three 
sat  conversing  for  more  than   an  hour ;  then 
other  visitors  came,  and  she  withdrew  to  tlie 
parlor.     The  doctor  had  examined  her  close- 
ly all  the  while  ;  had  noted  every  word,  action, 
expression  ;   and    a  troubled,  abstracted  look 
came  into  his  face  when  she  left  them. 
"  Huntingdon,  what  is  it  ?     What  is  it?" 
"  What  is  ^yhat  ?     I  don't  understand  you." 
"  What  has  so  changed  that  child  ?     I  want 
to  know  what  ails  her  ?" 

"  Nothing,  that  I  know  of  Y'ou  know  she 
was  always  rather  singular." 

"  Yes,  but  it  was  a  dilferent  sort  of  singu- 
j  larity.     She  is  too  still,  and   whitx',  and  cold, 
I  and   stately.     I  told  you  it  was  a  wretched 
I  piece  of  business  to  send  a  nature  like  hers,  so 
I  dlfFercnt   from   everybody's   else,    off    among 
j  utter  sti-angers ;   to  shut  up  that  queer,  frev., 
J  unlam;-d  young  thing, in  a  boarding-school  flyr 
I  four  years,  with   hundreds  of  miles  between 
j  her  and   the  few  things  she  loved.     She   re- 
I  quired   very  peculiar  and    skTlful   treatmenl, 
j  and.  instead,  you  ])ut  hor  off  where  she  petri- 
1  fied!    I  knew  it  would  never  answer,  and  I  told 
j  you  so.     You  wanted  to  break  her  obstinacy, 
;  did  you  ?     She  comes  back  marble.    I  tell  you 
now  I  know  her  better  than  you  do,  though 
you  are  her  father,  and  you  may  as  well  give, 
up  at  once  that  chronic  hallucination  of^'  rul- 
ing, conquering  her.'   *She  is  like  steel — coid, 
fii-m,  brittle  ;    she  will  break;    snap  asunder; 
butbeml! — never!  nev^-r!  Huntingdon,  1  love 
that  child  ;   I  have  a  right  to  love  her;  slie  hav 
bern  very  dear  to  me  from  her  babyhood,  and 
it  would  go  hard  with  me  to  know  that  anv      . 
sorrow   darkened   her  life.     Don't  allow  yovrJ^ 
old   plans  and   views   to  influence  you   ao^im 
Let  Irene  be  happy  in  her  own  way.     Didj 
ever   see   a  contented-looking  eagle   in,^^ilt 
cage  ?     Did  you 
in  a  paddock,  a 
jungles  ?■' 

:Mr.  Hunting: 
the  unpalatabi 
"  You  certai 
has  inherits 
wonls ;  coul 
*'  I  mean 


native 

mo\  «»d  uil^^ilTi^  pondering 
.vice. 

n"t  mean  to  say  that  she 

He  crushed  back  the 

sh  the  apprehension,  too  ? 

at,  if  she  were  my  child,  I 


It 


MACARIA. 


woulil  be  piiiJcd  b_v  hor,  Instead  of  striving  to 
cut  her  cii.irarter  to  fit  the  totally  difTorent 
pnttern  of  my  own." 

Hti  put  on  hi''  hat,  thrust  hi'^  hands  into  his 
po'.kols,  ptood  for  some  second*  frowning  so 
heavily  that  the  shaggy  eyebrows   met   and 
pi^rtially  concealed  the  cavernoni  eyes,  then 
noddi'd  to  the  master  of  the  house,  and  sought 
hm    bujiiy.     From  that  day  Irene  vras  con- 
scious of  a  keener  and  more  constant  scrutiny 
on  her  father's  part — a  <:easelcss  surveillance, 
silent,  but  rigiil — that  soon  grew  intolerable. 
No   matter  how  she   employed   her   time,  or 
whither  slic  went,  he  seemed  thoroughly  cog- 
nizant of  the  details  of  her  life  ;  ami  where  she 
least   c.\]T*(ted   interruption  or  dictation;  his 
liand.  firm    though  penile,  ])ointed  the  way, 
and  his  voice  calmly  hut  inflexibly  directed, 
llcr  affection  hail  been  in  no  degree  alienated  i 
by  their  long  separation,  and,  tlirough  its  sway,  | 
she  suSniilted   for   a   time;    but   Huntingdon! 
blood  ill  brooked  restraint,  and,  ere  long,  hers 
became  feverish,  necessitating  release.     As  in 
all  tyrannical  natures,  his  exactions  grew  upon  : 
her  compliance.     Siic  was  allowed  no  margin  i 
for  the  exercise  of  judgment  or  inclination:! 
her  associates  were  selected,  thru.st  upon  her;  I 
her  oecuj)ation«  de.cidcd  without  reference  to 
her    wisiies.     From    the    heartless,   frivolous 
routine  marked  out,   she  shrank  in  disgust ;  ] 
and.  piuiful  as  was  the  alternative,  she  pre- 
jiared  for  the  cla<h  which  soon  became  inevi- 
table.    He  wished  her  to  be  happy,  but  in  his 
own  way,  in  accordance  with  his  views  and 
aims,  and,  knowing  the  utter  antagonism  ofi 
taste  and  feeling  wlii(  h  unfortunately  existed, 
she  determined  to  resist.     Ooverned  less  by 
impulse  than  sober  second  thought  and  sound  ] 
rciasoniiig,  it  was  not  until  after  long  and  pa- 
tient  tl  -lib  -ration    that   she    finally  resolved  \ 
u|)on    her  future  course,  and  steadily  main- 
tained it.     She  felt  most  keenly  that  it  was  a 
painful,  a  lamentable  resolution,  but  none  the 
less  a  nec/'ssity  ;  and,  having  once  determined, 
slic  went  forward  with  a  fixedness  of  purpose 
characteristic  of  her  family.     It  was  the  begin- 
ning of  a  life-long  contest,  and,  to  one  who 
understood  Leonard  Huntingdon's  disposition, 
ot!"ered  a  dreary  pros[)ect. 

'       From  verbal  difTcrences  she.  habitually  ab- 
9tain»-d;  opinions  which  she  knew  to  be  dis- 
agreeable to  him  she  carefully  avoided  giving 
)i   expression    to   in    h'rt<   presence;    and,    while  I 

'•'llways  studiously  thoughtful  of  his   comfort, 

jjrescrved    a   resjjectful    deport uicnt,    al- 

hcrself    no    hastv    or   defiant   words. 


pomp   and   e 
lin    aristoc 
amp' 

indulge,  MfliUu^ngdoi 
in  ])rincely  sf^HrTand  whe 
oifered.     His  dinni>rs,  su 
ties  were  known  far  and 
don    Hill    became    provcr 
throuijLout  the  state.     S 


ny,    and    imbued 

ions,   which   an 

rmltted  him  to 

lalned  company 

anopjjortunity 

and  card-par- 

nd  Iluntlng- 

r   iiospitality 

were  feted, 


and  it  was  a  rare  occurrence  for  father  and 
daughter  to  dine  quietly  together.  Fortu- 
nately for  Irene,  the  servants  were  admirably 
trained;  and  though  this  round  of  company 
imposed  a  weightofresjionsibilitles  oppressive 
to  one  so  inexperienced,  she  applied  herself 
diligently  to  domestic;  economy,  and  soon  be- 
camo  familiarized  with  its  details.  Her  father 
had  been  very  anxious  to  provide  her  with  a 
skilful  hou^ekeej)er,  to  relieve  her  of  the  caro 
and  tedious  minutia  of  such  matters  ;  bub  she 
refused  to  accept  one,  avowing  her  belief  that 
it  was  the  imperative  duty  of  every  woman  to 
superintend  and  inspect  the  management  of 
her  domeslle  affalro.  Consequently,  from  tho 
first  wi'ck  of  her  return,  she  made  it  a  ride  to 
spend  an  hour  after  breakfast  in  her»Hning- 
room  pantry,  determining  and  arranging  the 
details  of  the  day. 

The  situation  of  the  house  commanded  an 
extensive  and  beautiful  prospect,  and  tho  an- 
cient trees  that  over-sh.adowcd  it  imjiarted  a 
venerable  and  imposing  aspect.  The  building 
was  of  brick,  overcast  to  represent  granite, 
and  along  three  sides  ran  a  wide  gallery,  sup- 
])orted  by  lofty  circidar  j)illars,  crowned  Avkh 
unusually  heavy  capitals.  Tho  main  body 
consisted  of  two  stories,  wjfh  a  hall  in  the 
centre,  and  thr^;e  roonjs  on  cither  side  ;  wliile 
two  long  single-storied  wings  stretched  out 
right  and  left,  one  a  blUiard-room,  the  othor  a 
green-house. 

The  |)arlors  and  library  occupied  one  side, 
the  first  opening  Into  tLe  green-house  ;  the 
dining-room  and  smoking-ioom  were  corrc- 
.spondingly  situnted  to  the  lillllard-salonn.  The 
frescoed  ceilings  were  too  lo\y  to  suit  modern 
Ideas;  the  windows  were  large,  and  nearly 
Mjuare  ;  t!io  facings,  sills,  and  doors  all  of  cedar, 
dark  as  mahogany  with  age,  and  j>olIshcd  as 
rosewood.  The  tall  mantle -pieces  were  of 
fluted  Egyptian  black  marble,  and  along  tho 
freshly-tinted  -walls  the  elaborate  arabe.sipio 
moulding  or  cornice  hung  heavy  and  threat- 
ening. A  broatl  easy  flight  of  white  niarblo 
steps  led  up  to  the  rii  hly-carvcd  front  door, 
with  its  massive  silver  knocker  bearing  the 
name  of  Huntingdon  in  old-fashioned  Italian 
(diaraclers  ;  and  in  the  arched  niches,  on  either 
side  of  this  door,  stood  two  statues,  biought 
from  Europe  by  Mr.  Huntingdon's  father, 
and  supposed  to  represent  certain  Roman 
pemtes. 

From  the  hall  on  the  second  floor,  a  narro>g, 
si>iral,  iron  stairway  ascended  to  a  circular 
ol).<ervatory  on  the  roof,  with  a  row  of  small 
columns  corresponding  with  those  below,  and 
a  tessellated  floor  of  alternating  white  and 
variegated  squares  of  marble.  Originally  tlio 
observatory  hi\d*been  crowned  by  a  heavy 
pagoda-shaped  roof,  but  reciyitly  this  had 
been  removed  and  a  covering  of  glass  substi- 
tuted, which,  like  diat  of  hoL-houses,  could  bo 
raised  and  lov/erW  at  pleasure,  by  means  of 
ropes  and  pullevs.     Two  generatious  haiLem- 


MAC  ART  A. 


78 


bellislied  tliis  house,  and  the  modern  win^js 
formin!;  tlie  cross  had  been  erected  witliin 
Irene's  rei:olIt'.ctio:i.  In  expectation  of  her 
return,  an  entirely  now  set  of  furniture  had 
been  selected  in  New  York,'  and  arranged 
Homo  weeks  before  her  arrival — costly  carpets, 
splendid  mirrors,  plush  and  broi'atel  sofas,  rich 
china,  and  every  luxury  which  wealth  and 
fastidious  taste  could  suj)ply.  The  jrrounds  in 
front,  embracing  several  acr-es,  were  enclosed 
by  a  brick  wall,  and  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  at 
the  entrance  of  the  long  avenue  of  elms,  stood 
a  tall  arched  iron  gate.  A  smoothly-sliaven 
terrace  of  Bi-rmuda  grass  ran  round  the  house, 
and  tiie  broad  carriage-way  swept  up  to  a 
mound  oj)posite  the  door,  sniniountcd  by  the 
bronze  figure  of  a  croiicliing  dog.  On  one 
wdc  of  the  avenue  a  beautiful  lawn,  studded 
with  clumps  of  trees,  extended  to  the  wall;  on 
the  other  serpentine  walks,  borderetl  with  low  j 
hedges,  carvi'd  ilower-beds  of  divei'se  shapes; 
and  here  delicate  trellis-work  supported  rare 
creepers,  and  airy,  elegant  arbors  and  summer- 
houses  were  overgrown  with  vities  of  rank 
luxuriance.  Everything  about  the  parterre, 
li-om  the,  well-swept  gravel  walks  to  the  care- 
iullj-'clippcd  hedges,  betokened  constant  at- 
tention and  lavish  expenditure.  But  the 
crowning  glory  of  the  i>lacc  was  its  wealth  of 
trees — tlie  ancient  avenue  of  Hiighty  elms, 
arching  grandly  to  the  skj'  like  the  groined 
nave  of  some  vast  cathedral ;  the  circlet  of 
sentinel  pojwars  towering  around  the  house, 
nnd  old  as  its  foundations  ;  the  long,  undula- 
ting line  of  venerable  willows  waving  at  the 
foot  of  the  lawn,  over  the  sinuous  little  brook 
that  rippled  on  its  way  to  the  creek  ;  and,  be- 
yond the  mansion,  clothing  the  sides  of  a 
ttecpcr  hill,  a  sombre  background  of  murmur- 
ing, solemn,  immemorial  pines.  Such  was 
Irene's  home — stately  and  elegant — kept  so 
thoroughly  repaired  that,  in  its  cheerfulness, 
its  age  was  I'orgotton. 

Tiie   soeiely  of   W was   considered 

remarkably  fine.  There  was  quite  an  aggre- 
f^ation  of  wealth  and  refinement;  gentlemen, 
M'hose  ])lanfations  were  situated  in  adja'^ent 
Bounties,  resided  here,  v.ith  their  families; 
W)me,  who  spent  their  winters  on  the  seaboard, 
resorted  here  for  the  summer  ;  its  bar  was  said 
to  possess  more  talent  than  any  other  in  the 
state;  its  schools  claimed  to  be  ui^i^passed  ; 
it  boasted  of  a  concert- hall,  a  l^-nm,  a 
Uandsome  court-house,  a  commodious,  well- 
built  jail,  and  lialf-a-cUzen  as  fine  churches, 
Its  any  country  town  could  desire.  I  would 
lain  avoid  the  term,  if  possible,  but  no  .syno- 

uyra  exists — W was,  indi.sputajiyk  an 

/'  aristocratic  "'  place.  itw 

Thus,  after  more  than  fotJ^ycars  aWcnce, 
tiio  sununens  of  which  liad  been  spent  in  travel 
among  the  beautiful  mountain  scenery  of  the 
North,  tlie  young  heiress  r^urned  to  the  liomc 
of  her  childhood.  Standa^  on  the  verge  of 
she  put  the  early  garlanded  years 


m 


behind  her  and  looked  into  the  solemn  temple 
of  womanhood,  with  its  che(pici-ed  pavement 
of  light  and  shadow;  ha  storied  prizes,  gilded 
architraves,  and  fretted  shrines,  whore  white- 
robed  bands  of  devotees  enter  with  uncertain' 
step,  all  eager,  tremliling  Mj/^lor,  soon  to  be- 
come clear-eyed,  sad-eyed  Iy>oj^!a'.,  through 
the  unerrin<T,  mystical,  sacred  initiation  of  tho 
only  true  hierophant — Time. 

From  her  few  early  school  associates  she 
had  become  completely  estranged  ;  and  the 
renewal  of  thinr  ac(|uaintance*now  soon  con- 
vinced her  that  the  utter  want  of  congeniality 
in  character  and  habits  of  life  prcchuhjd  th« 
possibility  of  any  warm  frienflships  between 
them.  For  several  months  after  her  return 
slie  patiently,  hopefully,  faithfully  studied  the 
dispositions  of  the  member.'-,  of  various  f;i*nllie8 
with  whom  she  foresaw  that  she  wouhl  b<i 
thrown,  by  her  father's  wishes,  into  intimate 
relationship,  and  satisfied  herself  that,  amovjg 
all  these,  there  was  not  one,  save  Dr.  Arnold, 
whose  counsel,  a.ssistancc,  or  sympathy  she  felt 
any  inclination  to  claim.  Human  nature  at 
least  is,  beyond  all  cavil,  cosuionolltan  in  its 
characteristics,  (barring  a  few  ethnologic  limi- 
tations) ;  and  a  given  number  of  men  and 
■wonfen  similarly  circumstanced  in  Chili,  Eng- 
land, Madagascar,  Utah,  or  Uurmah  would, 
doubtless,  yield  a  like  cpiota  of  moral  and  in- 
tellectual   idiosyncrasies.     In    fine,   AV 

was  not  in  any  respect  peculiar,  or,  asacora- 
nmnity,  specially  afllictcd  with  heart lessness, 
frivolity,  br^ilnlei'sness,  or  mammonism ;  the 
avoran;e  was  fair,  reputable,  in  all  respects. 
But,  nicontrovertibiy,  the  girl  who  came  to 
spend  her  life  among  these  people  was  totally 
dissimilar  in  criteria  of  a<.tion,  thought,  and 
feeling.  I'o  the  stereotyped  conventional 
stanilard  of  fashionable  life  she  had  nevur 
yielded  allegiance;  and  now  stood  (not  in  tiro 
St.  Simon,  Fourier,  Owen,  or  Leroux  sense) 
aso;;ial  free-thinker.  For  a  season  she  allowed 
herself  to  be  whirled  on  by  the  current  of 
dinners,  parties,  and  jilcnics;  but  soon  her 
sedate,  contemplative  temperament  revolted 
from  the  irksome  round,  and  givadually  she 
outlined  and  pursued  a  different  course,  giving 
to  her  gay  companions  just  what  courtesy  ro- 
(julred,  no  more. 

Hugh  had  prolonged  his  stay  in  Europe 
beyond  the  period  originally  designated  ;  and, 
instead  of  arriving  in  time  to  acconi])any  hij 
uncle  and  cou.sin  home,  he  did  not  sail  for  some^ 
months  after  their  return.  At  length, 
ever,  h-tters  were  recelvcfl  announei 
presence  In  Ne\f  York,  and  fixing 
when  his  relativusfl^ht  expect  hiui. 


The  carria; 
pot,  a  scrra 


JER  XVI. 

been  despatched  to  the  de- 
~  at  the  end  of  the  avoaue 


MAC  ARIA. 


waiting!  to  throw  open  the  pato.  Air.  Hunting- 
don walked  up  and  down  the  wide  colonnadts 
and  Irene  sal  before  thi-  fire  in  her  own  room, 
holdin;r  in  one  palm  the  fla.shiii;r  betrothal  ring, 
whieh  she  had  been  forceil  to  wear  since  her 
return  from  New  York.  She  had  looked  into 
the  rooms  to  see  that  all  was  brijrht  and  eheer- 
ful,  had  looped  hack  the  cnrtain.N  in  Ihe  ajtart- 
nient  ))re])ared  for  Hu<rh,  had  filled  the  vases 
with  flowers  that  he  preferred  in  his  boyhood, 
and  now  listened  for  his  approach  with  com- 
plex emotions.  The  sole  companion  of  her  in- 
fancy, slie  would  have  hailed  his  arrival  with 
tinmixcd  joy,  but  for  the  peculiar  relationsliif» 
in  which  she  now  stood  to  him.  The  few 
yeai*s  of  partial  jieace  had  passed:  she  knew 
that  the  hour  drew  near  when  the  lonp-dread- 
od  stTujr^de  must  he;rin,  and,  hopeless  of  avert- 
ing it.  quietly  waited  for  the  storm  to  break. 
Droppinjr  the  rinji  in  her  jewelry  box,  she 
turned  the  key.  and  just  then  her  fathers 
voice  rang  through  the  house. 

"Irene!  the  carriage  is  cominji  up  the 
avenue." 

She  went  slowly  down  stairs,  followed  by 
Parkgon,  and  joined  her  father  at  the  door. 
His  searching  look  discovered  nothing  i^  tlu; 
serene  face ;  the  carriage  stopped,  and  he  has- 
tened to  meet  his  nephew. 

"  Come  at  last,  eh  !  Welcome  home,  my  dear 
boy." 

The  young  man  turned  from  his  uncle, 
{•prang  up  the  steps,  then  paused,  and  the 
oousins  looked  at  each  other. 

''  Well,  Hugh  I  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you 
once  more." 

She  held  out  her  hands,  and  he  saw  at 
a  glance  that  her  fingers  were  unfettered. 
Seizing  them  warmly,  he  bent  forward,  but  she 
drew  back  coldly,  and  he  exclaimed  f 

*'  Irene  !    I  claim  a  warmer  welcome." 

She  made  a  haughty,  repellent  gesture,  and 
moved  forward  a  few  stcii^s,  to  greet  the  stran- 
ger who  aceomjjanied  him. 

"  My  daughter,  this  is  your  uncle,  Erie  Mitch- 
ell, who  has  not  seen  vou  since  you  were  a 
baby." 

The  party  entered  the  house,  and,  seated 
beside  him,  Irene  gazed  with  mingled  emo- 
tions of  pain  and  pleasure  upon  her  mother's 
only  brotiier.  He  w^s  about  thirty,  but  look- 
ed older,  from  life-long  suH'erinif;  had  u.sed 
crutches  from  the  time  he  was  five  years  of 
having  been  hopelcFsly  crippled  by  a  fall 
ng  his  infancy.  His  features  were  sharj), 
heeks  wore  the  sallow  hue  of, habitual  ill 
heanb.  and  his  fine  gra\^\-es  were  somewhat 
sunkc^   Restinrr  hisxuH«Les  urraiiist  the  sofa. 


hel 

at  his  n 

fair  flaxeii-hai 

held  out  to   be  kissed 

Philadelphia  to  be  treat? 

soon  after  he  heard  of  himf\ 


ig  and  earnestly 

remembered  a 

the  nurse  had 

he  was  sent  to 

lis  lameness; 

'h  death,  and 


ۥ 


then  his  tutor  took  him  to  Kurope,  to  command 
the  best  medical  advici^  of  the  old  world. 

"  From  the  faint  recollection  which  I  have 
of  your  mother,  I  think  you  strongly  resemble 
her,"  he  .said,  at  last,  in  a  fond,  gentle  tone. 

"  I  don't  know  about  that.  Erie.  She  is  far 
more  of  a  Huntingdon  than  a  Mitchell.  She 
has  many  of  the  traits  of  your  family,  but  in  ' 
appearance  she  certainly  belongs  to  my  side 
of  the  house.  She  very  often  reminds  me  of 
Hugh's  mother. 

Conversation  turned  upon  the  misfortune  of 
the<-ripple  ;  he  spoke  freely  of  the  unsuccess- 
ful experiments  made  by  eminent  physicians  ; 
of  the  hopelessness  of  his  case;  ami  Irene  was 
particularly  impressed  by  the  calmness  and 
patience  with  which  he  seemed  to  have  re- 
signed himself  to  this  great  afilietion.  She 
could  detect  no  tr;i'-e  of  com))laining  bitter- 
ness, or,  what  was  still  more  to  be  deplored, 
the  irritable,  nervous  (]uerulousness  so  oIUmi 
observed  in  persons  of  his  situation.  She  found 
Iiim  a  rij)e  scholar,  a  ju'ofound  archicologist. 
and  philosophic  observer  of  his  age  and  gene- 
ration ;  and,  deeply  interested  in  his  (juiet,  low- 
toned  talk,  she  felt  irresistibly  drawn  toward 
him,  careless  of  passing  hours  and  of  Hugh's 
ill-concealed  impatience  of  manner.  As  they 
rose  from  the  tea-table  her  cousin  said,  laugh- 
ingly : 

"  I  protest  agaiust  monopoly.  I  have  not 
been  able  to  say  three  words  to  my  lady-cou;- 
in." 

"  I  yield  the  floor,  from  necessity.  My  long 
journey  has  unfitted  me  for  this  evening,  and 
1  must  bid  you  all  an  early  good-night." 

"  Can  I  do  anything  for  you,  uncle  ?" 

"No,  thank  you,  Irene;  1  have  a  servan( 
who  thoroughly  uaderstands  taking  care  of 
me.  Go  talk  to  Hugh,  who  has  been  wishing 
me  among  the  antii)odes." 

He  shook  hands  with  her,  smiled  kindly,  and 
Mr.  Huntingdon  assisted  him  to  his  room. 

"  Irene,  come  into  the  library,  and  let  me 
have  a  cigar." 

"  How  tenacious  your  bad  habits  are,  Hugh." 

"  Smoking  belongs  to  no  such  category.  My 
habits  are  certainly  (juite  as  tenacious  as  my 
coiKsin's  antijiathies." 

He  seleetiil  a  cigar,  lighted  it,  and  drawini; 
a  chair  j^r  hers,  threw  himself  into  it  with 
an  expr^sPon  of  great  satisfaction.  "  It  is  de- 
lightfulHo  get  back  home,  and  sec  you  again, 
Irene.  I  ielt  som(^  rcgna  at  quitting  Paris, 
but  the  sight  of  your  due  more  than  comiJen- 
sates  me." 

She  was  looking  very  earnestly  at  him,  not- 
ingvljtlc  alteration  in  his  appearance,  and  for 
a  inobient  his-tyes  drooped  before  hers.  Sh<- 
saw  that  the  years  had  been  spent,  not  in 
study,  but  in  a  giddy  round  of  pleasure  and 
di.ssipation,  yet  the  bright,  frank,  genial  e.x- 
pre.ssion  of  boyl^d  still  lingered,  and  she  . 
could  not  deny  tMk  he  had  grown  uu  a  ver\- 


MACARIA. 


liamlsomo  man.  Slic  knew  that  he.  was  capa- 
ble ofsiiddeii,  spasmodic  impulses  of  {renerosity, 
but  saw  that  selfishness  remained  the  gr^jat 
f^ubstratum  of  his  character,  and  hor  keen 
feeling;  of  disappointment  showed  her  now  how 
much  she  had  hoped  to  find  him  changed  in 
this  respect. 

"  Irene,  T  had  a  rifiht  to  expect  a  warmer 
■welcome  than  you  deigned  to  give  me." 

"  Ilugli,  remember  that  we  have  ceased  to 
be  children.  AVhen  yon  learn  to  regard  me 
simply  as  your  cousin,  and  are  satisfied  with  a 
cousin's  welcome,  then,  and  not  until  then, 
/shall  you  receive  it.  l^et  childish  whims  pass 
with  the  years  that  have  sejiarated  us;  rake  up 
no  germs  of  contention  to  mar  this  first  even- 
ing of  your  return.  Br  reasonable,  and  now 
tell  me  how  }ou  have  employed  yourself  since 
we  parted  ;  what  have  you  seen  ?  what  have 
you  gleaned  ?" 

He  flushed  angrily,  hut  the  imperturbable 
face  controlled  him,  even  against  his  will,  and, 
muttering  something  which  she  thought  sound- 
ed very  much  like  an  oath,  he  smoked  for  some 
seconds  in  silence.  Without  noticing  his  sul- 
lenness,  she  made  some  inquiries  concerning 
bis  sojouin  in  Paris,  and  insensibly  he  found 
lu'mself  drawn  into  a  narration  of  his  course 
of  life.  She  listened  with  apparent  interest, 
making  occasion.al  good-humored  comments, 
and  bringing  him  back  to  the  subject  when- 
ever he  attempted  a  detour  toward  the  topic 
so  extremely  distasteful  to  her. 

The  clock  struck  eleven  ;  she  rose,  and  said  : 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Hugh,  for  kecjiing  you 
up  so  late.  I  ought  to  have  known  that  you 
were  fatigued  by  raili-oad  travel,  and  required 
sleep.  You  know  the  way  to  your  room ;  it  is 
the  same  j-ou  occupied  before  you  went  to  col- 
lege.    Good-night:  I  hope  you  will  rest  well." 

She  held  out  her  hand  carelessly;  he  took  it 
eagerl}',  and  holding  it  up  to  the  light  said,  in 
a  disap|)ointed  tone  : 

"  Irene,  where  is  my  ring  ?  Why  are  yon 
not  wearing  it  V"' 

"  It  is  in  my  jewelry  box.  As  I  gave  you 
my  reasons  for  not  wearing  it,  when  you  oflcr- 
ed  it  to  me,  it  is  not  necessary  to  repeat  them 
BOW.  Ciood-night,  Hugh  ;  go  dream  of  some- 
thing more  agreeable  than  our  old  childish 
quarrels.''  She  witiidrcw  her  fingers,  and  left 
lum.  I 

-Vs  she  entered  her  own  room  and  closed  the 
door,  she  was  surprised  (o  find  her  nni-se  sit- 
ting before  the  fire,  with  her  chin  in  her  hands, 
and  her  keen  black  eyes  fixed  on  the  coals. 

"Aunt  Xellie,  what  are  you  sitting  up  so 
rate  for?  You  will  have  aiKjf  her  spell  of  rhou- 
tnatism,  tramping  about  this  time  of  night." 

"  I  have  been  in  to  see  Mass'  Erie,  blessed 
lamb  that  he  always  was,  and  always  will  l>e. 
He  is  so  changed  I  n»'v«>r  would  have  known 
him;  he  was  a  weak  little  white-faced  cripple 
when  I  first  saw  him,  twenty  years  ago.  It 
M'rms  like  there  is  a  curse  on  your  family  any- 


how, both  sides.  They  died  off,  and  have  been 
killed  ofl\  on  your  mother's  side,  till  Mass'  Eric 
is  the  only  one  left  of  all  the  Mitchells,  and,  as 
for  master's  family,  you  and  Hugh  are  the  two 
last.  You  know  some  families  run  out,  and  I 
don't  think  master  ought  to  try  to  overturn  tlm 
Lord's  plans.  Queen,  let  things  take  their 
course." 

"  Who  has  put  all  this  into  your  head  ?" 

"  Nobody  put  it  into  my  head  !  I  should 
like  to  know  where  my  eyes  have  been  these 
many  years  ?  I  haven't  been  so  near  I'lind  all 
my  life.  Don't  you  suppose  I  know  what  m.Ts- 
ter  's  been  after  since  you  were  eighteen 
months  old  ?  Wasn't  I  standing  by  the  bed 
when  Hugh's  mother  died,  and  did  n't  1  hear 
master  promise  her  that,  when  yon  were  grown, 
you  and  Hugh  sh.ould  marry?  Don't  I  know 
how  vour  poor  dying  mother  cried,  and  wrung 
her  hands,  and  said  "  Harm  would  come  of  it  all, 
and  she  hoped  you  would  die  while  you  were 
a  baby  ?"  She  had  found  out  what  Hunting- 
don temper  was.  Poor  blessed  saint !  what 
a  life  she  did  lead  between  Miss  Margaret  and 
Miss  Isabella  !  It  is  no  use  to  shut  your  eyes 
to  it,  Queen.  You  might  just  as  well  look  at 
it  at  once.  It  is  a  sin  for  near  kin  like  you 
and  Hugh  to  marry,  and  you  ought  to  sot  your 
face  against  it.  He  is  just  his  mother  over 
again,  and  you  will  see  trouble,  as  sure  as  your 
name  is  Irene,  if  you  don't  take  a  staiid.  Oh  I 
they  are  managing  people  !  and  the  Lord  have 
mercy  on  folks  they  don"t  like,  for  it  is  n't  in 
Huntingdon  blood  to  forgive  o«  to  forget  any- 
thing. I  am  so  thankful  your  uncle  Eric  has 
come  he  will  help  to  s)%nd  between  you  and 
trouble.  Ah!  it  is  coming,  Ciueen  !  it's  com- 
ing !  You  did  n'ji  see  how  your  father  frowned 
wiien  you  would  n"t  let  Hugh  kiss  you  ?  I  was 
looking  through  the  window,  and  saw  it  all.  I 
have  n't  had  one  hour's  peace  since  I  lireamed 
of  seeing  you  and  your  mother  together.  (.)h, 
my  baby  !  my  baby  !  there  is  trouble  and  sor- 
row ihickening  for  you ;  I  know  it.  I  have 
had  a  warning  of  it." 

She  inclined  her  head  on  one  side,  and 
rocked  herself  to  and  fro,  much  as  did  early 
Pelasgic  Dodonides  in  announcing  oracular 
decrees. 

"  You  need  not  grieve  about  it;  I  want  no- 
body to  stand  between  me  and  troul)le.  "Be- 
side, Nellie,  you  must  remember  that,  in  all  my 
father  docs,  he  inteiid.s  and  desires  to  promote' 
my  welfare,  and  to  make  me  happy." 

"  Did  he  send  you  otf  to  that  boarding-school 
for  yoftr  happiness?  You  were  very  hajipy 
there,  wern't  ^u  ?  It  is  no  use  to  try  to 
blindfold  me ;  j^iq^ve  lived  a  little  too  long. 
Oh,  my  baby  I  your  while,  white  face,  and  big 
sorrowful  blue  eyes  follow  me  day  and  night ! 
I  knew  how  it  would  be  when  you  were  born. 
You  came  into  .this  world  among  awful  signs! 
The  sun  was  eclipsed  !  ehiikeiis  went  to  roost, 
as  if  night  had  come ;  and  I  saw  stars  in  the 
8ky  at  two  o'clock  in  the  day  !    Oh !  I  thouglit,^ 


MAC  ARIA. 


snre  cnoui'h,  ju(l;jment-(lay  liad  come  at  last; 
and  wln-n  tht  v  put  ynu  in  my  anus  I  trembled 
80  I  could  lianlly  stand.  May  (Jod  liave  mer- 
ry on  yon,  Queen  ! ' 

She  sliuddi.'rcd  for  a  moment,  an  if  in  the 
prc8<;ncR  of  som?.  dread  evil,  and,  rislnp, 
■wrapped  her  shawl  about  her  shoulders  and 
left  the  room. 

In-ne  looked  after  her  rotrcatinir  form,  smil- 
iiij:  at  the  supTstitious  turn  her  thoun;hts  ha<l 
taken,  then  dismissin;;  the  subject,  she  fell 
•sleep,  thinkinpr  of  her  nncle. 

A  week  p  iss>'d,  varied  by  fow  incidents  of 
interest;  thu  new-comers  became  thoroughly 
domesticated — thf.  old  routine  was  re-e.stab- 
lished.  IIu;jli  seemed  arny  and  careless — liunt- 
iujr,  rlsitinj,  renewin;x  boyish  acquaintances, 
and  wliiliiijr  away  the  time  as  inclination 
prompted.  He  had  had  a  Ion;j  conversation 
with  hii8  uncle,  and  the  result  was  that,  for  the 
present,  no  allusion  was  made  to  the  future. 
In  Irene's  presence  the  subject  was  tempora- 
rily tabooed.  Slie  knew  that  the  project  was 
not  relinquished,  was  only  veiled  till  a  conve- 
nient season,  and,  pivinj  to  the  momentary 
Inll  its  full  value,  she  acquiesced,  findinp;  in 
Krlc's  society  cnjoymf^nt  and  resources  alto- 
j»e.thcr  unexpected.  Instinctively  they  seemed 
to  compndiend  each  other's  character,  and 
while  both  were  taciturn  and  undemonstra- 
tive, a  warm  afTection  sprang  up  between 
them. 

On  Sunday  morning,  as  the  family  group 
•fit  around  the  breakfast- table  waiting  for 
Hugh,  who  lingered,  as  usual,  over  his  second 
(^p  of  chocolate,  M:^  Mitchell  sudilcnly  laid 
down  the  fork  with  which  he  had  been  dcs  rib- 
ing  a  .series  of  gcodictricry  figures  on  the 
fine  damask,  and  said :  "  I  met  a  youn^  man 
in  Brussels  who  interested  me  extremely,  and 
in  connection  with  whom  I  venture  the  pre- 
diction that,  if  he  lives,  he  will  occuj)y  a  con- 
ipioious  position  in  the  aflalrs  of  his  country. 
He  is,  or  was.  Secretary  of  Mr.  Cam[)bell,  our 

minister  to ,  and  they  wore  both  on  a 

visit  to  Brussels  when  I  met  them.  His  name 
is  Aubrey,  and  he  told  me  that  he  lived  here. 
His  talents  are  of  tlie  first  order  ;  his  ambition 
nnbounded,  I  should  judge;  and  his  patient, 
laborious  application  certainly  surpasses  any- 
tliing  I  have  ever  seen.  It  happened  that  a 
friend  of  mine,  from  London,  was  prosecuting 
€»ertain  researches  among  the  MS.  archives  at 
Brussels,  and  here,  immersed  in  study,  he  says 
he  found  the  s<',Tctary,  who  completely  dis- 
tanced him  in  lii.vinvestigations.aiid  then,  with 
unexpected  generosity,  pilaced  his  notes  at  my 
friend's  disposal.  His  iodusWy  is  almost  in- 
oredible.  Conversing  with  Campbell  concern- 
ing him,  I  learned  that  he  was  apro/c/yc  of  the 
minister,  who  spoke  of  his  future  in  singularly 
sanguine  terms.  He  lell  him  some  time  since 
to  embark  in  the  practice  of  law.  Do  yo"u 
know  him,  IIuntiiif;don  ?" 
f^    ••  No,  sir  I  but  I  know  that  his  father  was 


sentenced  to  the  gallows,  and  only  saved  him- 
self from  it  by  cutting  his  miserable  throat, 
and  (dieatinj  the  law." 

Tiie  master  of  the  house  thrust  back  hit 
ehaii'  violently,  crushing  one  of  Paragon's  in- 
nocent paws  as  he  crouched  on  the  carpet, 
and  overturning  a  glass,  which  shivered  into 
a  dozen  fragments  at  his  feet. 

Irene  understood  the.  scowl  on  his  brow,  but 
only  she  possessed  the  clew,  an<l,  Iazil\'  sipping 
his  chocolate,  Hugh  added:  "I. recollect  him 
very  well  as  a  boy;  he  always  had  a  bookish 
look,  ami  I  met  him  one  day  on  the  boulevard 
at  Paris.  He  was  talking  to  an  (tHache  of  th» 
American  Legation  as  I  came  up,  and  took 
no  more  notice  of  mc  than  if  I  had  been  one 
of  the  paving-stones.  I  could  not  avoid  ad- 
miring the  cool  sublimity  of  his  manner,  and 
as  I  had  snubbed  him  at  .«chool  loner  <a_'o,  I  put 
otit  my  hand,  and  said  :  "  Howdy-do,  Aubrey  ; 
pray,  when  did  you  cross  the  water?"  II« 
bowed  as  frigidly  as  Czar  Nicholas,  and,  with- 
out noticing  my  hand,  answered:  'Good- 
morning,  Mr.  Seymour;  I  have  been  in  Knrop* 
two  years,"  and  walked  on.  The  day  after  I 
pot  home  I  met  him  goiiiu  up  the  court-hou»« 
steps,  and  looked  him  full  in  the  face;  he  ju»t 
inclined  his  head,  and  paS'^cd  me.  Confound 
it !  he  's  as  prouil  as  If  he  had  tbuml  a  patent 
of  nobility  in  digging  among  IJelgic  inchives." 

"Nature  furnished  him  wit!i  one,  many 
years  since,"  replied  Eric. 

"  Yes;  and  his  coat-of-arms  should  be  jack- 
ketch  and  a  gallows !"  sneered  Mr.  Hunting- 
don. 

Looking  at  his  watch,  he  said,  as  if  wi<hin|» 
to  cut  the  conversation  short: 

"  Irene,  if  you  intend  to  go  to  church  to- 
day, it  is  time  that  you  had  your  bonnet  on. 
Hugh,  what  will  you  do  with  yourself?  Cr« 
witli  Erie  and  your  cousin  ?' 

•'  No,  I  rather  think  I  shall  stay  at  hoin« 
with  you.  After  European  cathedrals,  our 
American  churches  seem  excessively  jjlain." 
Irene  went  to  her  room,  pondering  the  con- 
versation. She  thought  it  remarkable  that,  as 
long  as  she  had  been  at  home,  she  lia<l  never 
seen  Russell,  even  on  the  street. 

Unlocking  her  wriling-desk,  she  took  out  a 
tiny  note  which  had  accompanied  a  (dicck  for 
two  hunilrcd  dollars,  and  had  reacijcd  dier  a 
few  months  Before  she  left  lioanliiiL'-'Jchool. 
The  firm,  round,  manly  hand  ran  as  lollows: 

"  Willi  gratitude  beyond  all  expression  for 
the  favor  conferred  on  my  mother  and  myself, 
soaie  years  since,  I  now  return  to  Miss  llun- 
tingilon  the  money  whi<di  I  have  ever  reganl- 
cd  as  a  friendly  loan.  IIo]iiiig  that  the  future 
will  aflbrd  me  some  opportunity  of  proving 
my  appreciation  of  her  great  kindness, 
"  I  remain,  most  res])cctrully, 
"  Her  obliged  friend, 

"  11u.''si:li.  AuiutRT. 

"  Nkw  York,  September  bth."     . 


MACARTA. 


77 


She  was  conscious  of  a  feeling  of  regret 
tliat  the  money  liiul  been  returned;  it  was 
pleasant  to  retlcct  on  the  fact  that  she  had 
laid  liim  undi'r  obligation;  now  it  all  seemed 
enncelled.  She  relocked  the  desk,  and,  draw- 
ing on  lier  gloves,  joined  her  uncle  at  the  cai"- 
riage.  Her  lather  accompanied  her  so  rarely 
that  she  scarcely  missed  him,  antl  during  the 
ride,  as  Erie  seemed  abstracted,  she  leaned 
back,  and  her  thouglits  onc&more  reverted  to 
the  unibrttinate  topic  of  the  breakfasl-table. 
Arriving  at  church  later  than  was  her  wont, 
fche  found  the  family  pew  occupied  by  stran- 
gers, and  crossed  the  aisle  to  share  a  friend's, 
but  at  that  instant  a  tall  form  rose  in  Mr. 
C'fcmpbell's  long  vacant  pew,  stepped  into  the 
aisle,  and  held  open  the  door.  She  drew  back 
to  sufler  her  uncle  to  limp  in  and  lay  aside 
his  crutches,  saw  him  give  his  hand  to  tlie 
stranger,  and,  sweeping  her  veil  aside  .as  slie 
entered,  she  saw  Russell  (juletly  resume  his 
scat  at  tiie  end  of  the  pew.. 

Startled  beyond  measurt\  she  looked  at  him 
intently,  and  almost  wondered  that  she  re- 
cognized him,  he  had  changed  so  materially 
since  the  day  on  which  she  stood  with  him 
before  his  mother's  gate.  Meantime  the  serv- 
ice connneuced,  she  gave  her  hymn-book  to 
her  uncle,  and  at  the  same  moment  Russell 
found  the  place,  and  handed  her  one  of 
two  which  lay  near  him.  As  she  received  it 
their  eyes  met,  looked  fixedly  into  each  other, 
and  she  held  out  her  hand.  lie  took  it,  she 
felt  lijs  fingers  tremble  as  tiiey  dropped  hers, 
and  then  both  faces  bent  over  tlie  books. 
When  they  knelt  side  by  side,  and  the  heavy 
folds  of  her  elegant  dress  swept  against  him,  it 
seemed  a  feverish  dream  to  her  ;  she  could  not 
realize  that,  at  last,  they  had  met  again,  and 
her  heart  beat  so  fiercely  that  she  pressed  her 
hand  upon  it,  dreading  lest  he  should  hear  its 
luud  [inisations.  Lowering  her  veil,  she  drew 
her  cosily  velvet  drapery  about  her  and  lean- 
ed ba<!k  ;  and  the'  anthem  was  chanted,  tiie 
solenm  organ -tones  hushed  themselv.'s,  the 
minister  stood  up  in  tiie  pulpit,  and  his  dull 
tones  fell  on  her  ear  and  hi  ain  meaningless  as 
the  dry  patter  of  dying  leaves  in  an  autumn 
wind.  The  outline  of  that  tall,  broad-shoul- 
dered, magniticently- turned  figure,  replete 
with  vigorous  muscular  strength  ;  the  massive, 
finely-formed  head,  ea>ily,  gracefully  poised, 
like  that  of  a  statue  ;  above  all,  the  olivt-pale, 
proud  face,  unshaded  by  beard,  with  regular 
teaturcs  sharply  yet  beautifully  cut,  like  those 
in  tliR  rare  gems  which  Benvenuto  Cellini  left 
the  world,  greeted  her  now,  turn  which  way 
bhe  wofild.  The  coat  was  buttoned  to  the 
tliroat,  the  strong  arms  were  crossed  over  the 
deep  chest,  the  piercing  black  eyes  raised  and 
fastened  on  the  pulpit.  It  has  been  well  said  : 
'•  The  eyes  indicate  the  antiquity  of  the  soul, 
oi*  through  how  many  forms  it  ha.<?  already  as- 
cended." If  i<o,  his  seemed  brimful  of  dcsiiny, 
and  aons  old,  in  that  ouc  long  unveiliii<r  look 


which  they  hjd  exchanged  ;  deep,  sparkling, 
and  yet  indescribably  melancholy,  something 
in  the  expression  vividly  recalling  the  Deatric« 
Cenci ;  then  all  analogy  was  batlled.  Electra 
knew  wherein  consisted  their  wonderful  chanu, 
and  because  she  put  these  eyes  on  canvas 
connoisseurs  studied  and  applauded  her  work. 
Now  face  and  figure,  cold  and  unrelenting, 
stamped  themselves  on  Irene's  memory  as  in- 
delibly as  those  which  laborious,  patient  lapi- 
daries carve  on  coral  or  cornelian.  The  dis- 
course was  ended,  the  diapason  of  the  organ 
swelled  tlirough  the  lofty  church,  priestly 
hands  hovered  like  white  doves  over  the  con- 
gregation, di-smissing  all  with  blessing.  Onca 
more  Irene  swept  back  the  rich  lace  veil,  fully 
exposing  her  face  ;  onca  more  her  eyes  looked 
into  those  of  the  man  who  politely  held  th& 
pew  door  open  ;  both  bowed  with  stately  grace, 
and  she  walked  down  the  aisle.  She  heanl 
Russell  talking  to  her  uncle  just  behind  her, 
lieanl  Uie  iiupiiries  concerniiur  his  health,  the 
expression  of  pleasure  at  meeting  again,  tho 
ho[)e  which  Erie  uttered  that  he  should  sc« 

him  frequently  during  his  stay  in  W . 

Without  even  a  glance  over  her  shoulder,  she 

proceeded  to  the  carriage,  where   her  uncle 

soon  joined  her,  taking  the  front  seat  instea^d 

pf  sharing  the  back  one,  as  is  customary.     Hcj 

scrutinized    his   niece's    countenance,    but   it 

baflled  him,  as  on  the  first  night  of  his  arrival ; 

the    serene,    colorless    face   showed    not   the 

slightest  sjmptom   of  emotion    of  any   kind. 

I  Neitlier  spoke  till  they  approached  the  cottage 

i  on  the  road-side,  then  she  extended  her  hand 

j  and  said,  indilferently  : 

I  '*  Your  European  acquaintance,  the  quon- 
1  dam  secretary,  formerly  lived  in  that  little 
i  three-roomed  house  hid  among  the  vine« 
■  yonder." 

j  "  When  I  spoke  of  him  this  morning,  you  did 
I  not  mention  having  known  him.  1  inferred 
I  from  your  manner  that  he  wa.s  a  stranger  to 
1  you." 

I      "  He  is  a  stranger  now.     I  knew  him   long 
1  ago,  when  we  were  children,  and  met  him  to- 
day for  the  first  time  in  some  years." 

*'  There  is  something  peculiarly  comm.and- 
ingin  his  appearance,  lln  impresses  me  with 
respect  and  involuntary  admiration,  such  as 
no  man  of  his  age  ever  excited  before,  and  I 
have  travelled  far  and  wide,  and  have  seen  th« 
lordliest  ol  many  lands." 

"  Years  have  greatly  changed  him.  He  is 
less  like  his  mother  than  when  I  knew  him  in 
his  boyhood." 

'*  lie  is  an  orphan,  I  learned-  from  Camp- 
bell." 
'•  Y'cs." 

She  pulled  the  check-cord,  and,  as  the  driTcr 
stopped,  she  leaned  out  of  thu  window,  point- 
ing to  a  mossy  tuft  on  the  margin  of  the  little 
brook  just  at  the  loot  of  the  hill. 

"  An<hcw,  if  you  are  not  afraid  to  leave 
your  horses,  get  me  that  cluster  of  violets  just 


MACARIA. 


tliis  side  of  tbe  sweet-jnim  tree.  Tliev  are  the 
very  earliest  I  have  seen." 

He  gathered  them  earefully  ami  placed  them 
in  the  daintily -plov»Ml,  out -stretched  iiand. 
She  bent  ovdr  them  an  instant,  then  divided 
•  the  tiny  bunch  with  lier  uncle,  saying: 
''  Spring  has  opened  its  blue  eyes  at  last." 

.Siie  met  his  searching  pazo  as  calmly  as  tbe 
flowerets,  and  as  they  now  ncarcd  the  honse 
he  forlwireany  further  ailusion  to  the  subject, 
which  he  slirew<lly  suspected  engaged  her 
thoughts  quite  as  fully  a.s  his  own. 


"  Stay,  child  ;  what  object  have  you  in  vie  v.' 
in  all  this  laborious  investigation  ?" 

*'  Are  you  sceptical  of  the  possibility  of  a, 
devotion  to  science  merely  for  science-sake  V 
Do  my  womanly  garments  shut  me  out  of  t4ie 
Holy  of  Holies,  debar  me  eternally  from  sacred 
arcana,  think  you  'i  Uncle  ilric,  once  for  all, 
it  is  not  mv  aim  to — 


-bri!s)i  wilh  oxtrcine  floiinco 


CHAPTER  XVH. 

"  Irene,  it  is  pa.st  midnight."  I 

She  gave  no  intimation  of  having  heard  him.  \ 

"  Irene,  my  child,  it  is  one  o'clock."  ' 

"Without   looking  up,   she  raised   her  hand 
toward  the  clock  on  the  mantle,  and  answered,  ' 
.•oldly  : 

"  You  need  not  sit  up  to  tell  me  the  time  of  j 
niirht ;  I  have  a  clock  here.  Go  to  sleep,  Uncle  i 
Eric."  i 

He  rested  his  shoulder  against  the  door-  ; 
facing,  and,  leaning  on  his  crutches,  watched  i 
her.  I 

She  sat  there  just  as  he  had  seen  her  sever-  j 
al  times  before,  with  jier  arms  crossed  on  the  \ 
table,  the  large  celestial  globe  drawn  near,  as-  ] 
Ironomical  catalogues  scattered  about,  an<l  a 
thick  folio  open  before  her.     She  wore  a  loose 
wrapper,  or  robe  dc  chambre,  of  black  velvet, 
lined  wilh  crimson  silk  and  girded  with  a  heavy 
cord  and  tassel.     The  sleeves  were  very  full,  i 
atui   fell  away  from  the  arms,  exposing  them  j 
from  the  dimpled  elbows,  and  rendering  tlioir  j 
pearly  whiteness  more  apparent  by  contrast  j 
with   the   saljle  hue  of  the  velvet,   while  the  I 
broad  round  collar  was  pressed  smoothly  down,  ! 
revealing    the    polished    turn    of  the    throat.  | 
Tlie  ivory  comb  lay  on  the  table,  and  the  un- 
l)Ound  hair,  falling  around  her  shoulders,  s\vei)t 
over  the  back  of  her  chair  and  trailed  on  the  j 
(•arpet.     A  miracle   of  statuesque  beauty  was  | 
his  queenly  niece,  yet  he  could  not  look  at  her  I 
without  a  vague  feeling  of  awe,  of  painful  ap-  ! 
prehension  ;  and,  as  he  stood  watching  her  mo-  ' 
tionlcss  figure  in  its  grand  yet  graceful  pose, 
he  sighed  involuntarily.      Siie  rose,  shook  back 
her   magnificent   hair,    and  approached   him. 
Her  eyes,  so  like  deep,  calm  azure  lakes,  crossed 
by    no  ripple,    met  his,   and    the    clear,  pure 
voice  echoed  through  the  s^ill  room. 

"  Uncle  Eric,  I  wish  you  would  not  sit  upon  ; 
my  account;  I  do  not  like  to  be  watched." 

•'  Irene,  your  father  forbade,  your  studying 
until  this  hour.     You  will  accomplish  nothing  ' 
but   the  ruin  of  your  health."  | 

"  How  do  you  know  that?  Do  statistics 
prove  astronomers  short-lived  ?  Jlatjier  the 
contrary.  I  commend  you  to  the  contempla- 
tion of  their  longevity.  Good-night,  uncle; 
starry  dreams  to  you." 


The  circlb  of  llie  icieiicus," 

1  take  my  heart,  my  intellect,  my  life,  and 
of!'erall  upon  the,,altar  of  its  penetralia.  You 
men  doubt  women's  credenti;ds  for  work  like 
mine ;  l>ut  this  intellectual  bigotry  arid  mo- 
nopoly already  trembles  bt;fore  the  weight  of 
stern  and  positive  results  which  jvomen  lay 
before  you — data  for  your  speculations — alms 
for  your  calculation.  In  glorious  attestation 
of  the  truth  of  female  capacity  to  grapple  with 
some  of  the  most  recondite  probhnis  of  science 
stand  the  names  of  llaroline  Herschel,  Mary 
Somcrville,  Maria  Mitchell,  Eumia  \Villard, 
Mrs  Phelps,  and  the  proud  compliment  paid 
to  Madame  Lej)autcl)y  Clairant  and  Lalande, 
who,  at  the  succcjsfid  conclusion  of  their 
gigantic  computations,  declared  :  'The  a.s.-^ist- 
ance  rendered  by  her  was  such  that,  without 
her,  we  never  should  have  dared  to  undertake 
the  enormous  labor  in  which  it  was  necessary 
to  calculate  the  distance  of  each  of  the  two 
nianets,  Jupiter  and  Saturn,  from  the  comet, 
separately  for  every  degree,  for  one  htmdred 
and  fifty  years.'      Uncle  Eric,  reinemljcr —  ' 


-WlioKii  riircs  tlio  pliifiue. 


TIioiikU  twico  a  woman,  uliiill  l>u  c:tllud  a  looch; 

AVIm  ri^liti  n  liiinl'.i  fiii:inci'»,  is  cxcustvl 

For  taiichin^  ci)i)ii'^rs,  though  ht-r  hands  Ixt.wiiito.' "' 

She  took  the  volume  sh«  had  been  reading, 
selected  several  eatalogues  from  tin-  ina.ss,  and, 
lighting  a  small  lamp,  passed  her  uncle  and 
mounted  the  spiral  staircase  leading  to  the 
observatory.  He  watched  her  tall  form  slowly 
a.vcnding,  an<l,  in  the  flashing  liglit  of  the 
lamp  she  carried,  her  black  dress  and  floating 
hair  seemed  to  belong  to  some  veritable  Ura- 
nia— i.some  ancient  Egyptic  l>erenice.  Jie 
heard  her  open  the  glass  door  of  tlie  observa- 
tory, then  the  flame  vanished,  and  the  click  of 
th(!  lock  feil  down  the  dark  stairway  as  she 
turned  the  key.  With  a  lu-avy  sigli  the  crip- 
])le  returned  to  his  room,  there  Id  ponder  the 
singular  character  of  the  woman  whom  he  had 
just,  left,  and  to  dream  that  he  saw  her  trans- 
planted to  the  constellations,  her  blue  eyes 
brightening  into  stars,  her  waving  hair  braid- 
ing it.ielf  out  into  briliimt  rushing  comets. 
The  night  was  keen,  still,  and  ch)udless,  antl, 
as  Irene  locked  herself  in,  the  chill  from  the 
marble  tiles  crept  through  the  carpet  to  her 
slippered  feet.  In  the  centre  of  the  apart- 
ment rose  a  wooden  shaft  bearing  a  brass 
plate,  and  to  this  a  telescope  was  securely 
fastened.      Two  chairs  and  an  old-fashioned 


MACARTA. 


7D 


oaken  table,  with  curious  carved  legs,  compris- 
ed the  furniture.  She  looked  at  the  small  side- 
rial  clock,  and  finding  that  a  quarter  of  an 
iioiir  must  elapse  bejbre  s!ie  could  make  the 
dfTsired  observation,  drew  a  chair  to  the  table 
and  seated  herself.  She  took  from  the  drawer 
a  number  of  loose  papers,  and  prepared  the 
blank  book  for  registering  the  observation ; 
then  laid  before  her  a  slate  covered  with 
figures,  and  began  to  run  over  the  calculation. 
At  the  close  of  fifteen  minutes  she  placed  her- 
self at  the  telescope,  and  waited  patiently  for 
the  appearance  of  a  small  star  which  gradu- 
ally entered  the  field ;  she  noted  the  exact 
moment  and  position,  transferred  the  result 
to  the  register,  and  after  a  time  went  back  to 
slate  and  figures.  Cautiously  she  went  over 
tlie  work,  now  and  then  having  recourse  to 
pen  and  paper ;  she  reached  the  bottom  of  the 
slate  and  turned  it  over,  moving  one  finger 
along  the  lines.  The  solution  was  wrong;  a 
mistake  had  been  madesomewht-re;  she  press- 
e<l  her  palm  on  her  forehead,  and  thought 
over  the  whole  question  ;  then  began  again. 
The  work  was  tedious,  the  calculation  subtle, 
and  she  attached  great  importance  to  the  re- 
sult; the  second  examination  was  fruitless  as 
the  first;  time  was  wearing  away;  where  could 
the  error  be?  Without  hesitation  she  turned 
back  for  the  third  time,  and  commenced  at  the 
first,  slowly,  patiently  threading  the  maze. 
Suddenly  she  paused  and  smiled ;  there  was 
the  mistake,  glaring  enough,  noW.  She  cor- 
rected it,  and  working  the  sum  through,  found 
tiic  result  perfectly  accurate,  according  fully 
with  the  tables  of  Leverrier  by  which  she 
was  computing.  She  carefully  transferred  the 
operation  I'rom  slate  to  paper,  and,  after  num- 
bering the  problem  with  great  particularity, 
placed  all  in  the  drawer,  and  turned  the  key. 
It  was  three  o'clock ;  she  opened  the  door, 
drew  her  chair  out  on  the  little  gallery,  and 
sat  down,  looking  toward  the  east.  The  air 
was  crisp  but  still,  unswayed  by  current  waifs; 
no  sound  swept  its  crystal  waves  save  the  low, 
monotonous  distant  thunder  of  the  falls,  and 
the  deep,  cloudless  blue  ocean  of  space  glowed 
wijth  its  numberless  argosii's  of  stellar  worlds. 
Constellations  which,  in  the  purple  twilight, 
stood  sentinel  at  the  horizon,  had  marched  in 
majesty  to  mid-heaven,  taken  ref'onnoissance 
thence,  and  as  solemnly  passed  the  opposite 
horizon  to  report  to  watchini:  gazers  in  anoth- 
er hemisphere.  "  Scouts  stood  upon  every 
headland,  on  every  plain  ;"  merfilessly  the  in- 
quisitorial eye  of  .science  followed  the  heaven- 
ly wanderers;  there  was  no  escape  from  the 
eager,  shH'pless  police  who  kept  vigil  in  every 
<'lime  and  country;  as  well  call  on  Bootes  to 
give  o'er  his  care  of  Ursa-Major,  as  hopelessly 
attempt  to  thrust  him  from  the  ken  of  Cyno- 
sura.  From  her  earliest  recollection,  and 
especially  from  the  hour  of  entering  school, 
astronomy  and  mathematics  had  exerted  an 
ovcr-mastd'ing  influence  upon  Irene's  mind. 


The  ordinary  text -books  only  increased  her 
interest  in  the  former  science,  and  while  in 
.New  York,  with  the  aid  of  the  professor  of 
astronomy,  she  had  possessed  herself  of  all  the 
most  eminent  works  bearing  upon  the  subject, 
sendinij  across  the  Atlantic  for  tables  and 
selenographic  charts,  which  were  not  to  be 
procured  in  America. 

Under  singularly  fiivorably  auspices  she  had 
pursued  her  studies  perseveringly,  methodi- 
cally, and,  despite  her  father's  prohibition, 
indofatigably.  He  had  indulged,  in  earlier 
years,  a  penchdnt  for  the  same  science,  and 
cheerfully  facilitated  her  progress  by  rear- 
ranging the  observatory  so  as  to  allow  full 
play  for  her  fine  telescope ;  but,  though  proud 
of  her  proficiency,  he  objected  most  strenu- 
ously to  her  devoting  so  large  a  share  of  her 
time  and  attention  to  this  study,  and  had  posi- 
tively interdicted  all  observations  after  twelve 
o'clock.  Most  girls  patronize  certain  branches 
of  investigation  with  fitful,  spasmodic  vehe- 
mence, or  periodic  impulses  of  enthusiasm; 
but  Irene  knew  no  intermission  of  interest, 
she  hurried  over  no  details,  and,  when  the 
weather  permitted,  never  failed  to  make  her 
niglitly  visit  to  the  observatory.  She  loved 
her  work  as  a  painter  his  canvas,  or  the 
sculptor  the  marble  one  day  to  enshrine  his 
cherished  ideal;  and  she  prosecuted  it,  not  us 
a  mere  pastime,  not  as  a  toy,  but  as  a  life-long 
labor,  for  the  labor's  sake.  To-night,  as  her 
drooping  palms  nestled  to  each  other,  and  her 
eyes  searched  the  vast  jewelled  dome  above, 
thought,  unwearied  as  the  theme  it  pondered, 
flew  back  to  the  dim  gray  dawn  of  Time, 
'•  When  tlie  morning-stars  sang  together,  and 
all  the  sons  of  God  shouted  for  jgy."  In  paji- 
oramic  vision  she  crossed  the  dusty  desert  of 
centuries,  and  watched  with  CJialdean  shep- 
herds the  ])ale,  sickly  light  of  waning  moons 
on  Shinar's  plains ;  welcomed  the  gnomon 
(first-born  of  the  great  family  of  astronomic 
apparatus) ;  toiled  over  and  gloried  in  the 
Zaros ;  stood  at  the  armillary  sphere  of  Ju,  in 
the  days  of  Confucius  ;  studied  with  Thalcs, 
Anaximander,  and  Pythagoras ;  entered  the 
sacred  precincts  of  the  school  of  Crotona, 
hand  in  hand  with  Damo,  tlie  earliest  woman 
who  bowed  a  devotee  at  the  starry  shrine,  and, 
with  her,  was  initiated  into  its  esoteric  doc- 
trines:  j)uzzled  with  Meton  over  his  lunar 
cycle  ;  exulted  in  Ilipparchus*  gigantic  labor, 
the  first  collection  of  tables,  the  earliest  relia- 
ble catalogues;  walked  through  the  Alexan- 
drine school  of  sarans,  misled  by  Ptolemy  ; 
and  l)ent  with  Uiiegh  Beigh  over  the  charts 
^t  Samarcand.  In  imagination  she  accompa- 
nied Copernicus  anrl  Tycho-Brahc,  and  wrest- 
led with  Kepler  in  the  Titanic  struggle  that 
ended  in  the  discovery  of  tlu;  magnificent  trin- 
ity of  astronomic  laws  f'ramed  by  the  Divine 
Architect  when  the  first  star  threw  its  faint 
shimmer  through  (he  .«ilent  wastes  of  space. 
Kepler's  three  laws  wefe  an  unceasing  wonder 


80 


MACARIA. 


and  joy  to  Ler,  and  witli  fond,  womanly  pride 
fhe  w:is  wont  to  recur  to  a  lontly  oh.servatory 
in  Silfiia,  wlurf,  before  Newton  rose  upon  the 
world,  one  of  ht*r  own  st-x,  Maria  Cunitz, 
launciied  upon  the  stormy  sea  of  scientific 
literature  tLe  "  Urania  Propitia."  The  Con- 
gress of  Liliciithal  possessed  far  more  of  inter- 
est for  Iter  than  any  wliich  ever  sat  in  august 
council  over  tb(r  f.ito  of  nation!",  and  the  names 
of  Herychel,  IJessel,  Arpelamlf  r,  Struve,  Ara- 

fo,  lA'\*errier,  and  Maedlrr  were  saered  as 
'er?ian  lelrjin.  From  the  ''Almagest"  of 
Ptolemy,  and  the  "  Com(?tographie  ot  Pingrt?, 
to  tlie  "  Mecanique  CY-lestc,"  ^'lle  had  searched 
and  toiled;  and  now  the  suhlimc  and  almost 
bewildering  speculations  of  Maedler  held  her 
upell-bound.  The  delicate,  subtle,  beautil'ul 
problem  of  parallax  had  heretofore  exerted 
the  ftrongest  fajK-ination  over  her;  but  this 
magiiifieent  hypothesis  of  a  "central  sun," 
from  the  monarch  ot"  computations  at  Dorpat, 
gcized  upon  her  imagination  with  painful  tena- 
city. Frqni  the  hour  when  Kepler  stretched 
out  his  curious  fingers,  feeling  for  the  shape  of 
planetary  orbitn,  or  Leverrier  groped  through 
abysses  of  darkness  for  tiie  unknown  Nep- 
tune, which  a  sceptical  world  declared  existed 
only  in  his  m.ithematical  calculationSj^  no  such 
daring  or  stupjndous  speculation  had  been 
breathed  as  tliis  which  Maedler  threw  down 
from  his  Russian  observatory.  Night  after 
night  she  gazed  upon  the  pleiades,' singling 
out  Alcyone,  the  brilliant  central  sun  of  the 
mighty  astral  system,  whose  light  met  her 
eager  eyes  after  the  long  travel  of  five  hundred 
and  thirty-seven  years;  and,  following  in  tbe 
footsteps  of  the  great  speculator,  she  tried  to 

fjra«p  the  result,  that  the  period  of  one  revo- 
ution  of  our  sun  and  systeiu  around  that  glit- 
tering centre  was  eighteen  million  two  hun- 
dre<I  tliousand  years. 

The  stony  lips  of  geology  asserled  that  our 
globe  was  {^rowing  old,  thousands  of  genera- 
tions had  fallen  asleej)  in  the  bosom  of  niolher 
earth,  the  ashes  of  centuries  had  gathcretl 
U])on  tiie  pa-t,  wt-re  creepingover  the  presi-nt ; 
and  yet,  in  the  face  of  catacombs,  ami  nuim- 
mies,  and  niould<;riiig  monuments,  chiselled  in 
tlie  infancy  of  the  human  race,  mathematics 
unrolled  her  figured  scroll,  and  proclaimed 
that  Time  had  but  begun;  that  chiliasms  must 
elapse,  that  leons  on  aions  must  ^oll  away,  be- 
fore the  first  revolution  of  tlie  starry  universe 
could  be  completed  about  its  far-ofi"  aleyon 
centre.  What  mattered  human  lal)ors,  what 
need  of  trophies  of  human  gtMiius,  of  national 

f;randeur,  or  individual  glory  ?  Eighteen  mil- 
ions  of  years  would  level  all  in  one  huge, 
common,  shapeless  ruin.  In  comparison  with 
the  mighty  mechanism  of  the  astral  system, 
the  solar  seemed  a  mere  tiny  cluster  of  jewels 
set  in  some  infinite  abyss  ;  the  sun  shrank  into 
insignificance,  the  moon  waned,  the  planets 
became  little  gleaming  points  of  light,  such  as 
Ler  diamond  riu"  threw  off  when  held  under 


i  gas-chandeliers.     Perish  the  microcosm  in  the 
limitless  macrocosm,  an<l  sink  tlic  feeble  earthly 
'segregate  in  the  boundless,  rushing,  choral  ag- 
tgregation!     She    was   oppressed   by  the  stu- 
I  pendous  nature  of  the  prolilem  ;  human  reason 
!  and  imagination  raeled  under  the  vastness  of 
the  subject  which  tliey  essayed  tx)  contemplata 
and  nu'asure;  an<l  to-night,  as  she  pondered  in 
silent  awe  the  gigantic,  overwhelming  laws  of 
(Jod's  great  Coo/i"--,  by  .^ome  subile  association 
;  there  flashed  upon  h'-r  memory  tlie  sybiilic  in- 
scription on  the  Temple  of  Neith  at  Sais:  "  I 
:  am  all  that  has  been,  all  that  is,  all  that  will 
be.     No  mortal  has  ever  raisid  the  veil  which 
j  conceals  me;  and  the  fruil  I  have  proiluccd  it 
I  the  sun."     Had  Maedler,  with  telo<copio  in- 
sight, climbed  by  mathematical  laddei-s  to  tint 
starry  adyta  of  nature,  anil  triumphantly  rai.-fvl 
I  the  mystic  veil  V     With  a  teeling  of  adoration 
;  which  no  language  could  ailequately  convey 
i  she  gazed  upon  nebula;,  and  suns,  and  systems  ; 
!  and  with  the,  solemn  rellectiou  that  some,  lik« 
!  Cassiopeia's    lost  jewel,  mij:ht    be    perishing, 
wrapped  in  the  last  conflagration,  while  their 
I  light,  still  journe^eil  to  her,  she  recJiileil  tho 
!  feverish  yet  sublime  vision  of  the  great  (Jer- 
I  man    dreamer:    "Once    we   issued  ^utldenly 
I  from    the   middle   of  thickest    I'.ight    into  an 
'  aurora  borealis — the    herald    of  an    expiring 
I  world — anil  we  fouml,  throughout  this  cycle  of 
!  solar   systems,  that   a  day  of  judgment   had 
■  indeed  arrived.     The  suns   had  .^-ickened,  and 
.  the  planets  were  heaving,  rocking,  yawning 
in   convulsions;    the  subterraneous  waters  of' 
I  the  great  deeps  were  breaking  up,  and  light- 
j  nings  that  were  ten  diameters  of  a  world  in 
'length  ran  along  from  zenith  to  nadir;  and. 
here  anil  there,  where  asun  should  lifivi»been, 
!  we  saw,  instead,  through  the  misty  vapor,  a 
I  gloomy,  ashy-lcaden  corpse  of  a   solar  body, 
that  sucked  in  flames  from  the  perishing  world, 

'  but  gave  out  neither  light  nor  heat 

I  Then  came  eternities  of  twilight  that  re- 
I  vealed  but  were  not  revealed;  on  tiio  right 
I  hand  and  on  the  left  towered  mighty  con- 
stellations, that  by  self-repetitions  and  an- 
swers from  alar,  that  by  counter-positions 
built  uj)  triumphal  gates,  whose  architrave.-, 
whose  archways — horizontal,  upright — rested, 
rose  at  altitude  by  spans — that  seetlied  ghostly 
from  infinitude.  ^Vithout  measure  were  the 
architraves,  j)ast  nuudjcr  were  the  archways, 
beyond  memory  the  gates.  Sufldenly,  as  thus 
we  rode  from  infinite  to  infinite,  and  tilted 
over  abyssnial  worlds,  a  mighty  cry  arose,  that 
systems  more  mysterious,  that  worlds  more 
billowy,  other  heights  and  other  depths,  were 
coming,  were  nearing,  were  at  hand.  Then 
the  angel  threw  up  his  glorious  hands  to  the 
heaven  of  heavens,  saying  :  '  Knd  is  there  nona 
to  the  universe  of  (iod.  Lo  !  also,  thero  is  no 
beginning.'  " 

Among  the  mysteries  of  the  Crotona  school 
the  Samian  sage  had  taught  the  "music  of  tho 
spheres,"  and  to-night  Irene  dwelt  upon  tho 


MACARIA. 


81 


thought  of  that  grand  choir  of  innumerable 
■worlds,  that  mighty  orchestra  of  starry  systems, 

"  Whtre,  through  the  lon?;-(Jrawn  aislo  and  frett»d  vault, 
The  pealfng  anthem  swells  tho  note  of  praise  " 

unceasingly  to  the  Lord  of  glory,  till  her  firm 
lips  relaxed,  and  the  immortal  words  of  Shaks- 
peare  fell  slowly  from  them : 

"  Look  how  the  floor  of  hoavpn 
Id  thick  inlaid  with  patin''S  of  bright  Rold  ; 
There  's  not  tho  smallest  orb  which  thou  behold'st, 
But.  in  his  motion  like  an  augel  sings, 
Still  qiiiring  to  the  young-eyed  cluniibinis. 
Such  harmony  is  in  immortal  souls ; 
15ut  whilst  this  muddy  vestsre  of  decAy 
Doth  grossly  close  it  iti,  we  can  uot  hoar  it." 

That  the  myriad  members  of  the  shining 
archipelago  were  peopled  with  orders  of  intel- 
ligent beings,  differing  from  our  race  even  as 
the  planets  differ  in  magnitude  and  physical 
structure,  she, entertained  not  a  doubt;  and  as 
feeble  fancy  struggled  to  grasp  and  com- 
prehend the  ultimate  destiny  of  the  countless 
hosts  of  immortal  creatures,  to  which  our 
earthly  races,  with  their  distinct,  unalterable 
tyjies,  stood  hut  as  one  small  family  circle 
amid  clustering  worlds,  her  wearied  brain  and 
human  heart  bowed  humbly,  reverentlj'',  Wor- 
shippingly  before  the  God  of  Revelation,  who 
can  "bind  the  sweet  influences  of  Pleiades,  or 
loose  the  bands  of  Orion ;  bring  forth  Mazza- 
roth  in  his  season,  and  guide  Arcturus  with 
his  sons."  Kneeling  there,  with  the  twinkling 
light  of  stars  upon  her  up-turned  face,  she 
prayed  earnestly  for  strength,  and  grace,  and 
guidance  from  on  High,  that  she  might  so  live 
and  govern  herself  that,  when  the  season  of 
earthly  probation  ended,  she  could  /earlessly 
pass  to  her  eternal  home,  and  joyfully  meet 
the  awful  face  of  Jehovah. 

The  night  was  almost  spent;  she  knew  from 
the  "celestial  clock-work"  that  Day  blushed 
ju.st  beyond  the  horizon  ;  that,  ere  long,  silver- 
gray  fingers  would  steal  up  the  quiet  sky, 
parting  the  sable  curtains ;  and,  taking  the 
lamp,  she  hung  the  observatory  key  upon  her 
girdle,  and  glided  noiselessly'  down  the  stair- 
way to  her  own  apartment. 

Paragon  slept  on  tho  threshold,  and  raised 
his  head  to  greet  her  ;  she  stooped,  stroked  his 
silky  cars,  and  closed  the  door,  shutting  him 
out.  Fifteen  minutes  later  she,  too,  was  sleep- 
ing soinidly;  and  an  hour  and  a  half  afterward, 
followed  by  that  faithful  guardian  "  dweller 
of  the  thre^old  "  she  swept  down  the  steps, 
and,  amid  the  matin  chant  ©f  forest  birds, 
mounted  Erebus,  and  dashed  off  at  full  gallop 
for  the  customary  ride.  No  matter  wliat  oc- 
curred to  prevent  her  sleeping,  she  invariably 
rode  before  breakfast^  whon  the  weather  per- 
mitted ;  and  as  her  midnight  labors  loft  few 
hours' for  repose,  she  generally  retired  to  her 
room  immediately  after  dinner  and  indulged 
in  tho  luxury  of  a  two  hours  nap.  Such  was 
a  portion  of  the  regimon  she  had  prescribed  for 
6 


herself  on  her  return  from  school,  and  which 
she  suffered  only  the  'inclemency  of  the 
weather  to  iufrinoje. 


CHAPTER  XVni. 

"  Surely,  uncle  Eric,  there  is  room  enough 
in,  this  large,  airj'^  house  of  ours  to  accommo- 
date my  mother's  brother  ?  I  thought  it  was 
fully  settled  that  you  were  to  reside  with  us. 
There  is  no  good  reason  why  you  shotild  not. 
Obviousl_v,  we  have  a  better  claim  upon  you 
than  anybody  else  ;  why  doom  yourself  to  the 
loneliness  of  a  separate  household  ?  Recon- 
sider the  matter." 

"  No,  Irene ;  it  is  better  that  I  should  have  a 
quiet  little  home  of  my  own,  free  from  the  in- 
evitable restraint  incident  to  residing  under 
the  roof  of  another.  My  recluse  nature  and 
haljits  unfit  me  for  the  gay  young  associates 
Avho  throng  this  house,  making  carnival-time  of 
all  seasons." 

"  I  will  change  the  library,  and  give  you  two 
rooms  on  this  floor,  to  avoid  stair-steps ;  I  will 
build  you  a  wall  of  partition,  and  have  your 
doors  and  windows  hermetically  sealed  against 
intrusion.  No  sound  of  billiard-ball,  or  danc- 
ing feet,  or  noisy  laughter  shall  invade  your 
sanctuary.  Not  St.  Simeon,  of  isolated  memo- 
ry, could  desire  more  complete  seclusion  and 
solitude  than  that  with  which  I  shall  indulge 
you." 

"  It  is  advisable  that  I  should  go." 

"  I  appreciate  neither  the  expediency  nor 
necessity." 

"  Like  all  other  crusty,  self-indulgent  bache- 
lor!, I  have  many  whims,  which  I  certainly  do 
not  expect  people  to  bear  patiently." 

"  You  are  neitiier  crusty  nor  self-indulgent, 
that  I  have  discovered  ;  as  for  your  whims,  I 
have  large  charity,  and  will  humor  them." 

"  Irene,  I  want  a  house  of  my  own,  to  which 
I  can  feel  privileged  to  invite  such  guests,  such 
companions,  as  I  deem  congenial,  irrespective 
of  the  fuiti  of  would-be  social  autocrats,  and 
the  social  ostracism  of  certain  cliques." 

She  was  silent  a  moment,  but  met  his  keen 
look  without  the  slightest  embarra^ssment,  and 
yet  wlion  she  spoke  he  knew,  from  her  eyes 
and  voice,  that  she  fidly  comprehended  his 
moaning. 

"  Of  course,  it  is  a  matter  which  you  must 
determine  for  yourself.  You  arc  the  best  judge 
of  what  conduces  to  your  happiness  ;  but  I  am 
sorry,  very  sorry,  uncde  Eric,  that,  in  order  to 
promote  it,  you  fe^jl  it  necessary  to  remove 
liom  our  domestic  circle.  I  shall  miss  you 
painfully." 

"Pardon  me,  but  I  doubt  the  last  clause. 
You  lean  on  no  one  «uffieiently  to  note  the 
absence  of  their  support." 

"  Do  you  recognize  no  difference  between 
a  parasitic  clinging  and  an  affectionate  friend- 


MACARIA. 


8hi 


ip,  ii  valued  companionship  based  on  con-  i 

nial  tastes  and  svinnathius  .''" 

'•  Unnucjitionably,  I  admit  and  appreciate 
the  distmction ;  but  you  <lo  not  m(!ft  me  full- 
eyed,  oj)en-baniled,  on  this  common  platform 
of  congeniality:,  strengthened  as  it  is,  or  should 
be,  bv  near  relationship.  You  confront  mc 
always  with  your  emotional  nature  mail-clad, 
and  make  our  intercourse  a  mere  intellectual 
fpncing-match.  Now,  mark  you,  I  have  no 
wish  to  force  your  confidence  ;  that  is  a  curious 
and  complex  lock,  which  onlv  the  golden  key  of 

ferfect  love  and  trust  should  ever  open  ;  and 
simply  desire  to  say  that  your  constitutional 
reticence  or  habitual  reserve  precludes  the 
'  ho])P  of  my  renderintr  you  cither  assistance  or 
sympathv  by  my  continued  presence." 
'  "  llncle  Eric,  it  arises  from  no  want  of  trust 
in  you,  but  in  the  consciousness  that  only  I  can 
help  myself  I  have  more  than  once  heard 
you  quote  Wallenstein  ;  have  you  so  soon  for- 
gotten his  words : 

"Permit  her  own  will. 
For  there  »rp  idrrowK. 
Whejo.  of  nocetsity.  the  »oul  must  be 
Ttd  I'wn  »iipi>"rl.     A  si roiift "heart  will  rely 
On  il»  own  strength  iiloue.'' 

"  But.  my  dear  girl,  you  certainly  are  no 
Thckla  V"  .       .         /  . 

Was  there  prescience  in  his  question,  and 
a  quick  recognition  of  it  in  the  quiver  which 
ran  across  her  lips  and  e^-elids  ? 

"  The  fates  forbid  that  I  should  ever  be  !" 

"  Irene,-in  the  name  and  memory  of  your 
mother,  promise  mo  one  thinp  :  that  if  sorrows 
assail  you,  and  a  third  party  can  bear  aught 
on  his  shoulders,  you  will  call  upon  me." 

"  A  most  improbable  conjunction  of  circum- 
stances; but,  in  such  emergency,  I  promise  to 
afllict  you  with  a  summons  to  the  rescue. 
Uncle  Eric,  I  think  J  shall  never  gall  any 
shoulilers  but  my  own  with  the  burdens  which 
God  may  sec  fit  to  lay  on  them  in  the  coming 
years." 

He  looked  pained,  puzzled,  and  irresolute  ; 
but  she  smiled,  and  swept  her  fingers  over  the 
bars  of  her  bird-cage,  toying  with  -its  golden- 
throated  inmate. 

"  Have  you  any  engagement  for  this  morn- 
ing ?" 

"  None,  sir.     What  can  I  do  for  you  ?" 

"  If  vou  fed  disjHjsed,  I  should  bo  glad  to 
have  v'ou  accompany  me  to  town  ;  I  want 
your  assistance  ia  selecting  a  set  of  china  for 
Inv  new  home.     Will  you  go  ?" 

"a  shadow  drifted  over  the  colorless  tranquil 
face,  as  siie  said,  sadly: 

"  Uncle  Eric,  is  it  utterly  useless  for  me  to 
attempt  to  persuade  you  to  relinquish  this  pro- 
ject, and  remain  with  us  V" 

*'  Utterly  useless,  my  dear  child." 

"  I  will  get  my  bonnet,  and  join  you  at  the 
carriage."  .    , , 

Very  near  the  cottage  formerly  occupied  by 
:Mv3.  Aubrey  stood  a  small  brick  houue,  par- 


tially concealed  by  poplar  and  sycamore  trees, 
and  surrounded  by  a  neat,  well-arranged  flow- 
er garden.  This  was  the  place  selected  and 
piirchascd^by  the  cripple  for  his  future  home. 
Mr.  Huntmgdon  had  opiposed  the  whole  pro- 
ceeding, and  invited  his  brother-in-law  to  reside 
with  him ;  but  beneath  the  cordial  surface* 
the  guest  felt  that  other  .sentiment*  rolled  deep 
and  strong.  He  had  little  in  common  with 
his  sister's  husband,  and  only  a  warm  and  in- 
creasing .ifiection  for  his  niece  now  induced 

him  to  settle  in  W .     Some  necessary 

repairs  had  been  made,  some  requisite  an-auge- 
mcnts  completed  reganling  servants,  and  to- 
day the  finishing  touclu-M  were  given  to  the 
snug  little  bachelor  establishment.  When  it 
was  a]>parent  that  no  arguments  would  avail 
to  alter  the  decision,  Irene  ceased  to  speak  of 
it,  and  busied  herself  in  various  undertakings 
to  promote  her  unde'.s  coinlbrt.  She  mmle 
pretty  white  curtains  for  his  library  windows. 
Knitted  bright-colored  worsted  lamp-mats,  and 
hemmed  and  marked  the  contents  of  the  linen- 
closet.  The  dining-room  pantry  she  took 
under  her  special  charge,  and  at  the  expiration 
of  ten  days,  when  the  master  took  formal  pos- 
session, she  acfcompanied  him,  and  enjoyed  tho 
pleased  surprise  with  whieh  he  received  her 
donation  of  cakes,  preserves,  catchups,  pickles, 
etc.,  etc.,  neatly  stowed  away  on  the  spotless 
shelves. 

"  I  shall  make  a  weekly  pilgrimage  to  this 
same  pantry,  and  take  an  inventory  of  ita  eon- 
tents.  I  intend  to  take  good  care  of  you, 
though  you  have  moved  off,  DIogenes-like." 

She  ste])})ed  forward,  and  arranged  some 
glass  jars  which  stood  rather  irregularly. 

"How  prim  and  old-maidish  you  are!" 
laughed  her  uncle. 

"  I  never  could  bear  to  see  things  scattered 
In  that  helter-skelter  style  ;  I  like  bottles.jars, 
plates,  ami  dishes  drilled  into  straight  lines, 
not  leaning  in  and  out,  in  that  broken-rank 
fashjsn.  I  am  not  given  to  boast ing^but  I  will 
say  that  no  housekeeper  can  show  a  nicer, 
neater  pantr)-  than  my  own." 

"  What  have  you  in  that  basket?" 

"  Flowers  from  the  green-house.  Come  into 
the  library,  and  let  me  dress  your  new  vases." 

He  followed  her  into  the  next  room,  and 
watched  her  as  she  leisurely  and  tastefully 
disposed  her  (lowers ;  now  searching  the  basket 
for  a  sprig  of  ever-green,  an<l  now  bending 
obstinate  stems  to  make  still'  clusters  leai^ 
lovingly  to  each  other.  Placing  the  vases  on 
tho  mantle,  she  stcppitd  back  to  inspect  the 
effect,  and  said,  grayeLv  : 
•  "  How  l)(!autiful  they  are  !  Let  me  always 
dress  your  vases,  uncle.  Women  have  a  knack 
of  intertwining  .stems  and  grouping  colors;  our 
fingers  v.ere  ordained  for  all  such  embroidery 
on  the  coarse  gray  serge  of  stern,  practical 
every-day  life.  You  men  are  more  at  homo 
with  state  papers,  machine-shops,  navies, 
armies,  political  aconomy,   and    agricultiu*al 


MACARIA. 


83 


chemistry  than  with  fragile  azaleas  and 
golden-dusted  lilies.  Before  he  could  reply 
she  turned,  and  asked : 

"  What  do  those  large  square  boxes  in  the 
hall  contain  ?" 

"  Books  which  I  gathered  in  Europe  and 
selected  in  New  York;  among  them  many 
rare  old  volumes,  which  you  have  never  seen. 
Come  down  next  Monday,  and  help  me  to 
number  and  shelve  them  ;  afterward,  we  will 
read  them  together.  Lay  aside  your  bonnet, 
and  spend  the  evening  with  me." 

•'  No,  I  must  go  back  ;  Hugh  sent  me  word 
that  he  would  bring  company  to  tea." 

He  took  her  hand,  and  drew  heu  close  to  his 
chair,  saying,  gently : 

"  Ah,  Irene !  I  wish  I  could  keep  you  al- 
ways. You  would  be  happier  here,  in  this  little 
unpretending  home  of  mine,  than  presiding  as 
mistress  over  that  great  palatial  house  on  the 
hill  yonder." 

"  There  you  mistake  me  most  entirely.  I 
love,  better  than  any  other  place  on  earth,  my 
stately,  elegant,  beautiful  home.  Not  Fon- 
taineblcau,  Windsor,  Potsdam ;  not  tfcie  vine- 
yards of  Shiraz,  or  the  gardens  of  Damascus, 
could  win  me  from  it.  I  love  every  tree,  every 
creeper,  every  foot  of  ground  from  the  front 
gate  to  the  brink  of  the  creek.  If  you  sup- 
pose that  I  am  not  happy  there,  you  err 
egregiously." 

"  My  intuitions  rarely  deceive  me." 

"  At  least,  uncle  Eric,  they  play  you  false  in 
this  instance.     Why,  sir,  I  would  not  give  my 

frand  old  avenue  of  primeval  elms  for  St. 
'eter's  nave.  Your  intuitions  are  full  of  cob- 
webs ;  have  them  well  swept  and  dusted  before 
I  see  you  Monday.  Good  night,  uncle;  I  must 
really  go.  If  you  find  we  have  forgotten  any- 
thing, send  Willis  up  for  it." 

He  kissed  her  fingers  tenderly,  and,  takinf^ 
her  basket,  she  left  him  alone  in  his  new  honift. 

A  few  weeks  passed  without  incident ;  Hugh 
wont  to  New  Orleans  to  visit  friends,  aind 
Mr.  Huntingdon  was  frequently  absent  at  the 
plantation. 

One  day  he  expressed  the  desire  that  Judge 
Harris'  family  should  dine  with  him,  and  ad- 
ded several  gentlemen,  "  to  make  the  party 
rnerry."  Irene  promptly  issued  the  invita- 
tions, suppressing  the  reluctance  which  filled 
her  heart;  for  the  young  people  were  not  fa- 
vorites, and  she  dreaded  Charlie's  set  speeches 
and  admiring  glances,  not  less  than  his  mother's 
endless  disquisitions  on  fashion  and  the  pedi- 
gree of  all  the  best  families  of  W and 

its  vicinage.  Grace  had  grown  up  very  pretty, 
highly  accomplished,  even-tempered,  gentle- 
hearted,  but  full  of  her  mother's  fashionable 
notions,  and,  withal,  rather  weak  and  frivo- 
lous. She  and  Irene  were  constantly  thrown 
into  each  other's  society,  but  no  warmth  of, 
feeling  existed  on  either  side.  Grace  could 
not  comprehend  her  companion's  character, 
?«>d  Iren«  wearied  of  her  gay,  heedless  chit- 


chat." As  the  latter  anticipated,  the  day  proved 
very  tiresome  ;  the  usual  complement  of  music 
was  contributed  by  Grace,  the  expected  quan- 
tity of  flattering  nothings  gracefully  uttered 
by  her  brother,  the  customary  amount  of  exe- 
crable puns  handed  around  the  circle  for 
patronage,  and  Irene  gave  the  signal  for  din- 
ner. Mr.  Huntingdon  prided  himself  on  his 
fine  wines,  and,  after  the  decanters  had  circu- 
lated freely,  the  gentlemen  grew  garrulous  as 
market-women. 

Irene  was  gravely  discussing  the  tariff  ques- 
tion with  Mr.  Herbert  BlackwcU  (whom  Mrs.  ^ 
Harris  pronounced  the  most  promising  young 
lawyer  of  her  acquaintance),  and  politely 
listening  to  his  stereotyped  reasoning,  when  ' 
a  scrap  of  conversation  at  the  opposite  end  of 
the  table  attracted  her  attention. 

"  Huntingdon,  my  dear  fellow,  I  tell  you  I 
never  made  a  mistake  in  my  life,  when  read- 
ing people's  minds ;   and  if  Aubrey  has  not 

the  finest  legal  intellect  in  W ,  I  will 

throw  up  my  judgeship.  You  have  seen  ^ 
Campbell,  I  suppose  ?  He  returned  last  week, 
and,  by  the  way,  I  half-expected  to  meet  him 
to-day;  well,  I  was  talking  to  him  about  Au- 
brey, and  he  laughed  his  droll,  chuckling 
laugh,  snapped  his  bony  fingers  in  my  face, 
and  said : 

"Aye!  aye,  Harris!  let  him  alone;  hands 
off!  and  I  will  wager  my  new  office  against 
your  old  one  that  he  steps  into  your  honor's 
shoes.  Now  you  know  perfectly  well  that 
Campbell  has  no  more  enthusiasm  than  a 
brick  wall,  or  a  roll  of  red  tape  ;  but  he  is  as 
proud  of  the  young  man  as  if  he  were  his 
son.  Do  you  know  that  he  has  taken  him  into 
partnership  ? 

*'  Pshaw  1  he  will  never  commit  such  a  faux 
pax." 

"But  he  has;  I  read  the  notice  in  this 
morning's  paper.  Pass  the  madeira.  The 
fact  is,  we  must  not  allow  our  old  prejudices  to 
make  us  unjust.  I  know  Aubrey  has  struggled 
hard ;  he  had  much  to  contend ." 

"  Hang  Campbell  and  the  partnership ! 
He  will  find  that  he  has  played  the  fool,  be-  ' 
fore  he  gets  rid  of  his  precious  pet.  Miss 
Grace,  do  let  me  fill  your  glass?  Mv  youn»T 
prude  there  at  the  head  of  the  table  just  nip's 
hers  as  if  she  feared  it  was  poisoned.  Mrs. 
ILirris,  you  have  no  sherry ;  permit  me." 

"The  young  man's  antecedent*  are  most 
disgraceful,  Mr.  Huntingdon,  and  I  told  the 
judge  last  night  that  I  was  surprised  at  Mr. 
Campbell's  infatuation,"  chimed  in  Mrs.  Har- 
ris over  her  golden  sherrv. 

"  Whose  antecedents,  mother  ?" 

"  My  dear,  we  were  speaking  of  Russell 
Aubrej',  and  the  stigma  on  his  name  and 
character," 

"Oh,  yes!  His  father  was  sentenced  to 
be  hung,  I  believe,  and  committed  suicide  iu 
prison.  But  what  a  splendid,  dark-looking 
man  he  is  !     Docidedly  the  most  superb  figure 


84 


MACARIA. 


f 


and  eyes  in  W 

school-girl :  -will  oros?  the  street  to  avoid  meet- 
ing a  body.     WRen  be  finds  that  he  can  not 


Shy,  thouch  !  shy  as  a  I  like  cups,  and  tinted  as  no  Sevres  china  ever 
I  will  be.  Urging  Erebus  into  the  thicket, 
'  Irene  broke  as  many  clusters  as  she  could 
i  conveniently  carrv;  dragged  a  long  tangled 
j  wreath  of  late  jasmijie  from  its  seclusion,  fast- 
'  ened  jt  across  the  pommel  of  the  saddle,  and 
'  turned  her  horse's  head  homeward.    The  siffht 


dodge  you,  he  gives  you  the  full  benefit  of  his 
magn-icont  eyes,  and  bows  as  haughtily  as 
Great   Mogul      Maria    Henderson   goes  into 

raptures  over  his  figure."  ^ 

Witli  head  slightly  inclined,  and  eyes  fixe<l    of  these  ivy  cups  recalled  the  memory  of  her 


on  Mr.  Blai'kwell's  iiue,  Irene  had  heard 'all 
that  passed,  and  as  the  gentleman  paused  in 
liis  harangue  to  drain  his  glass,  she  rose  and 
led  the  way  to  the  parlors.  The  gentlemen 
adjourned  to  the  smoking-room,  and  in  a  short 
time  Mrs.  Harris  ordered  her  carriage,  plpa<l- 
ins  an  engagement  with  Grace's  mantua- 
maker  as  an  excuse  for  leaving  so  early.  With 
a  feeling  of  infinite  relief  the  hostess  accom- 
panied them  to  the  door,  saw  the  carriage 
descend  the  avenue,  and,  desiring  one  of  the 
servants  to  have  Erebus  saddled  at  once,  slic 
went  to  her  room  aiid  changed  the  rich  dinner- 
dress  for  her  riding-habit.  As  she  sprang  into 
the  saddle,  and  gathered  up  the  reins,  her 
fathfr  called  from  the  open  window,  whence 
issued  curling  wn^hs  of  blue  smoke  : 

"  AVhere  now,  Irene  ?" 

"  I  am  going  to  vide  ;  it  threatened  rain  this 
morning,  and  1  was  afraid  to  venture." 

He  said  something,  but  without  hearing  she 
rode  off,  and  was  soon  out  of  sight,  leaving  the 
town  to  the  left,  ^vnd  taking  the  road  that 
wound  along  tlie  river-bank — the  same  where, 


aunt  Margaret;  they  had  been  her  favorite 
flowers,  and,  as  thought  now  took  another 
channel,  she  directed  her  way  to  the  grave- 
vard.  She  always  rode  rapiiUy,  and,  ere  long, 
Erebus'  feet  drew  sparks  from  the  rocky  road 
hading  np  the  hill-side  to  the  cemetery  gate. 
Dismounting,  she  fastened  the  reins  to  one  of 
the  iron  spikes,  and,  gathering  the  folds  of  her 
habit  over  her  arm,  carried  her  flowers  to  the 
family-bur>-ing  ground.  It  was  a  large  square 
lot,  enclosed  by  a  handsome  railing  and  tall 
gate,  bearing  the  name  of  "  Huntingdon  "  in 
silver  letters.  As  she  approached,  she  was 
surprised  to  find  a  low  brick  wall  and  beauti- 
ful new  marble  monument  close  to  her  father's 
lot,  and  occupying  a  space  which  had  been 
filled  with  gra.ss  and  weeds  a  few  weeks  pre- 
vious. While  she  paused,  wondering  whose 
was  the  new  monument,  and  resolved  to  ex- 
amine it,  a  tall  form  stepped  from  behind  the 
column,  and  stood,  with  folded  arms,  looking 
down  at  the  grave.  There  was  no  mistaking 
face  or  figure;  evidently  he  was  unaware  of 
her  presence,  though  she  was  near  enough  to"** 


years  before,  she  had  cantered  with  Grace,  i  mark  the  stern  sorrow  written  on  his  countu- 
Hugh,  and  Charlie.  It  was  a  windless,  sunny  j  nance.  She  glided  forward  and  opened  the 
April  afternoon  ;  trees  were  freshly  robed  in  i  heavy  gate  of  her  own  enclosure ;  witli  diffi- 
new-boru  fringy  foliage,  green  and  "[listeningM  culty  she  pushed  it  ajar,  and  v/ith  a  sudden, 
long  grassy  slopes  looked  like  crinkled  velvet,  |  sharp,  clanging  report  it  swung  back,  and  tho 
starred  with  delicate  pale  blue  houstonias  ;  I  bolt  slid  to  its  rusty  place.  He  lifted  his  eyes 
wandering  woodbine  trailed  its  coral  trumpets  ;  then,  and  .saw  her  6tandiug.a  few  yards  from 
in  and  out  of  grass  and  tangled  shrubs,  and  !  him  ;  the  rich  soft  folds  of  the  Maria  Louise 
Jate  wood  azaleas  loaded  the  air  with   their  '  blue  riding- dress  trailed  along  the  ground; 


delicious,  into.Kicating  p«rfume.  Irene  felt  un- 
wontedly depressed;  tlie  day  had  wearied  her; 
she  shook  the  reins,  and  the  beautiful  horse 
sprang  on  in  a  quick  gallop.  For  a  mile  far- 
ther they  dashed  along  the  river  bank,  and 
then  reining  him  up,  she  leaned  forward  and 
<lrew  a  long,  <leep  breath.  The  scene  was 
surpassingly  (piiet  and  beautiful ;  on  either 
side  wooded  hills  came  down,  herd-like,  to  the 
edge  of  the  stream  to  lave  their  thirsty  sides, 
and  listen  to  the  continual  .'^olemn- monotone 
of  the  foaming  falls:  here  a  small  flock  of  slieep 
browsed  on  the  young  waving  grass,  and  there 
contented-looljiug  cow.s,  with  glossy  satin  skins, 
saunl(!red  homeward,  taking  the  road  with  as 
much  precision  as  their  Swiss  sisters  to  the 
tune  of  Ranz  dex  Vackes ;  the  broad  river 
sweeping  down  its  rocky  pavement,  and,  over 
all,  a  mellow  April  sky  of  intense  'blue,  with 
whiifs  of  creamy  vapoi",  sinuous  as  floss  silk. 
Close  to  the  m.irgin  of  the  river  grew  a  luxu^ 
riant  mass  of  ivy,  and  now  the  daiic  shining 
foliage  was  ilecked  with  tiny  rosy  buds,  and 
well-blown  waxen  petals,  crimped  into  fairy- 


the  blue  velvet  hat,  with  its   long  drooping 
j  plume,  had  become  loosened  by  tho  exercise, 
I  and,  sli])ping  back,  left  fully  exposed  the  daz- 
j  zling  white   face  and  golden  glory  of  waving 
I  hair.    She  bowed,  he  returned  the  silent  token 
I  of  recognition,  and  she  moved  forward  to  her 
I  aunt's    tomb,  wreathintr    it  with  the   fiowers 
;  which  Miss  Margaret  had  loved  .so  well.    The 
I  sun  was  low,  leaning  upon  the  purple  crest  of 
a  distant  hill ;  the  yellow  light  flashed  over  the 
forest, of  marble  pillars,  and  their  cold  polish- 
ed   surfaces    gave    back   the    waning    glare, 
throwing  it  oil"  contemptuously,  as  if  sunshine 
were  a  mockery  in  that  silent  city  of  the  de4il. 
Sombre    sacred    guardian    cedars  'extended 
their  arms  lovingly  over  the  marble  couches 
of   fair  young  sleepers  in   God's   Acre,  and 
venerable   willows   wept  over  many  a  stela, 
whose  inscription  lichen-footed  Time  had  ef- 
faced.    Here   slept   two  generations   of  the 
Huntingdons,  and  the  last  scion  of  the  pr«ud 
old  hou.se  stood  up  among  the  hoarded  bones 
of  her  ancestry,  glancing  round  at  the  mos.'s-  , 
stained  costly  mausoleums,  and    noting  the 


MACARIA.  85 


\ 


fact  that  tlie  crowded  lot  had  room  for  but 
two  more  narrow  beds — two  more  silent  citi- 
zens— her  father  and  herself.  It  was  a  reflec- 
tion which  she  had  little  inclination  to  linger 
over,  and,  retaining  a  beautiful  cluster  of  ivy 
and  jasmine,  she  left  the  enclosure,  keeping 
her  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground. 

As  she  passed  the  new  lot  the  gate  swung 
open,  and  Russell  stood  before  her. 

"Good  evening,  j\Iiss  Huntingdon." 

"  Good  evening,  Mr.  Aubrey." 

The  jiame  sountled  strange  and  harsh  as  she 
uttered  it,  and  involuntarily  she  paused  and 
held  out  her  hand.  He  accepted  it ;  for  an  in- 
stant the  cold  fingerf  Iay»iu  his  warm  palm, 
and  as  she  withdrew  them  he  said,  in  the  rich 
mellow  voice  which  she  had  heard  in  the 
church : 

"  Allow  me  to  show  you  my  mother's  monu- 
ment." 

He  held  the  gate  open,  and  she  entered  and 
stood  at  his  side.  Tbe  monument  was  beautiful 
in  its  severe  simplicity — a  pure,  faultless  shaft, 
crowned  with  a  delicately -chiselled  wreath  of 

f)oppy  leaves,  and  bearing  these  words  in  gilt 
otters  :  "  Sacred  to  the  memory  of  m}-  mother, 
Amy  Aubrey."  Just  below,  in  JDlacic  charac- 
ters, ^^  Resurgam  ;"  and,  underneath  the  whole, 
on  a  finely-lluted  scroll,  the  inscription  of  St. 
Gilgen.  After  a  silence  of  some  moments 
Russell  pointed  to  the  singular  and  solemn 
words,  and  said,  as  if  speaking  rather  to  liimself 
than  to  her : 

"  I  want  to  say  always,  with  Paul  Flemming, 
*  I  will  be  strong,  and  therefore  I  placed  here 
the  inscription  which  proved  an  evangel  to 
him,  that  when  I  come  to  my  mother's  gravo 
I  may  be  strengthened,  not  melted,  by  the 
thronjiinsr  of  bitter  memories." 


"I    doubt    the    success    of    your   mission; 

W has  little  to  tempt  aii  artist  liko  your 

cousin.  Be  kind  enough  to  tender  her  my 
love,  and  best  wishes  for  the  realization  of  her 
artistic  dreams." 

They  had  reached  the  gate  where  Erebus 
waited",  when  Russell  took  off  his.hat  reverent- 
ly, and  pointed  to  the  western  sky  all  "  aflame." 
Masses  of  purple,  scarlet,  gold,  amber,  and 
pure  pale  opaline  green  blended  in  one  mag- 
nificent conflagration  ;  and  toward  the  zenith 
tortuous  feathery  braids  and  dashes  of  blood- 
retl  cirri,  gleaming  through  the  mild  balmy 
air  like  coral  reefs  in  some  breezeless  oriental 
sea. 

"  No  soft,  neutral,  sober  '  Graiae' ,  there," 
said  Irene,  lifting  her  hand  to  the  glowing 
cloud-panorama. 

lie  took  up  the  quotation  promptly,  and 
ad(k-(l : 

" '  The  Angel  of  the  Sea  '  is  abroad  on  his 
immemorial  mission,  the  soft  wings  droop  still 
with  <lew,  and  the  shadows  of  their  plumes 
falter  on  the  hill;  strange  laughings  and.glit- 
terings  of  silver  streamlets,  born  suddenly,  and 
twined  about  the  mossy  heights 'in  trickling 
tinsel,  answering  to  them  as  they  wave.  Tho 
coiled  locks  of '  hundred-headed  Typhou '  leave 
no  menace  yonder." 

He  paused, .and  turning  suddenly,  with  a 
piercing  look  at  his  companion,  continued  : 

"  Miss  Huntingdon,  '  on  what  anvils  and 
wheels  is  the  vapor  pointed,  twisted,  ham- 
mered, whirled  as  the  potter's  clay  ?  By  what 
hands  is  the  incense  of.  the  sea  built  up  into 
domes  of  marble  V  "    , 

"  I  seerfhat  you  follow  assiditously  the  beck 
of  Nature's  last  anointed  hierophant,  and  go 
in  and  out  with  the  seer,  fljiren  among  the  cheru- 


She  looked  up  as  he   spoke,  and  the  melan-    bim  and  seraphim  of  his  metropolitan  cathe- 


choly  splendor  of  the  deep  eyes  stirred  her 
heart  as  nothing  had  ever  done  before. 

"  I  have  a  few  flowers  left ;  let  me  lay  them 
as  an  aifectionate  tribute,  an  *■  in  memoriam' 
on  y6ur  mother's  tomb — for  the  olden  tiftie,  the 
cottage  days,  are  as  fresh  in  my  recollection  as 
in  yours." 

She  held  out  the  woodland  boutjuet ;  he  took 
it,  and  strewed  the  blossoms  along  the  broad 
base  of  the  shaft,  reserving  only  a  small  clus- 
ter of  the  rosy  china  cups.  Both  were  silei)t; 
but,  as  she  turned  to  go,  a  sudden  gust  blew 
her  hat  from  her  head,  the  loosened  comb  fell 
upon  the  grass,  and  down,  came  the  heavy 
masses  of  hair.  She  twisted  them  hastily  into 
a  coil,  fastened  them  securely,  and  received 
her  hat  from  him,  with  a  cool 


dral,  witli  its  'gates  of  rock,  paven\ents  of 
cloud,  cnoirs  of  stream,  altars  of  snow,  and 
vaults  of  purple,  traversed  by  the  continual 
stars.' " 

"Yes;  I  am  a  reverent  student  and  warm 
admirci*  of  John  Ruskin.  I  learned  to  love 
him  first  through  the  recommendations  of  my 
cousin  ;  then  lor  his  gorgeous,  unapproachable 
word-painting." 

While  they  talked,  the  brilliant  pageant 
faded,  the  coral  banks  paled  to  snowy  lines,  as 
if  the  blue  waves  of  air  were  foam-crested,  and 
in  the  valley  below  rose  the  dusky  outline  of 
dark-haired,  wan-browed,  gray-clad  twilight, 
stcalinjj  her  "  sober  hvery"  over  the"  flushed 
and  fretted  bosom  of  the  murmuring  river. 

"  You  have   a   lonjj    walk    to   town,"   said 


"  Thank  you,  sir;  when  did  you  hear  from.  Irene,  as  Russell  arranged  her  horse's  reins. 


Electra  ?" 

♦     They  walked  on  to  the  cemetery  gate,  and 
he  answered : 

"  I  have  heard  nothing  for  some  weeks. 
Have  you  any  message  ?  I  am  going  to  New 
York  in  a  few  days,  to  try  to  pei-suadtt  her  to 
return  to  W with  me." 


"  I  shall  not  find  it  Ion;;.  It  is  a  fine  piece 
of  road,  and  the  stars  will  be  up  to  light  it." 

He  held  out  his  hand  to  assist  her ;  she 
sprang  easily  to  the  saddle,  then  leaned  toward 
him,  every  <>tatue-like  curve  and  niouhling  of 
her  proud  ivory  face  statnping  themselves  on 
bis  recollection,  as  she  spoke. 


8«  MACARIA 

I 

•'  Be  80  pood  as  to  hand  me  my  glove ;   I  [  do  you  ?     Presently  you  will  hear  your  fath- 
dropped  it  at  your  feet  as  I  mounted.     Than^    er's  voice  80undin<j  like  a  brass  trumpet  down 
Good-evening,  Mr.  AuVirey ;    take  my  I  stairs,    if    you    ar'n't   ready.     There !     John 
■  '        '    '      ■■    rincrs  that  bell  as  if  he  had  the  dead  to  raise !'» 
"  That  will  do,  aunt  Nellie,  only  give  me  a 
handkerchief." 

She  went  down,  and  met  her  father  at  the 


best  wishes  on  vour  journey  and  '\t»  mi.ssion.' 

"  Good-by,  Miss  Huntingilon."     He  raised 

his  hat,  and,  as  she  whi-eled  off,  the  magnetic 

handuome  face  followed,  haunted  her.     Erebus 


was  impatient,  out  of  humor,  and  flew  up  the  ;  dining-room  door. 


Comi.',  Queen  ;  we  are  waiting  for  you." 
He  looked  at  her  fondly,  took  her  hand,  and 
drew  her  to  the  tilile  ;  and,  in  after  years,  she 
recalled  this  occasion  with  mournful  pleasure 
as  the  last  on  which  he  had  ever  given  her  his 
pet  name. 

'*    .    .    .    Theru  Mb  fntal  dnyi,  Indeed, 
In  which  tliB  fibrmii  y'ari  have  taken' root    y 
So  ileoply.  tlml  tliey  quiTi-r  to  their  tups 
Whene'er  yuu  itir  the  Uuhl  ufiuch  a  day." 


next  Steep  hill  a.s  if  he,  too,  were  haunted. 
Glancing  back  as  she  reached  the  summit, 
Irene  *aw  the  erect,  stern,  solitary  figure  at 
the  extremity  of  the  wooded  vista,  and  in 
that  mystical  dim  light  he  looked  a  colo.''sal 
avenging  Viking.  | 

Once  more,  as  in  childhood,  she  heard  the  j 
whirr  of  the  loom  of  destiny ;    and  tornight,  ! 
catching  sight  of  the  ParcaB  fingers,  she  knew 
that  along  the  silver  warp  of  her  life  ran  dark 
alien  threads,  interwc^iiving  all  in  one  shape- 
less, tangled  web. 

On  through  gathering  gloom  dashed  horse 
and  rider,  over  the  little  gurgling  stream, 
through  the  gate,  up  the  dark,  ray  less  avenue 
to  tlie  door-step.  The  billiard-room  was  a 
blaze  of  light,  and  the  cheerful  sound  of  min- 
gled voices  came  out  at  the  open  window,  to 
tell  that  the  genlleuieii  liad  not  yet  finished 
their  game.  Pausing  in  the  hall,  Irene  lis- 
tened an  instant  to  distinguish  the  voices,  then 
ascended  the  long,  easy  8tair»case.  The  lamp 
threw  a  mellow  radiance  on  the  steps,  and  as 
she  reached  the  landing  Hugh  caught  her  in 
his  arms,  and  kissed  her  warmly.  Startled  by 
his  unexpected  appearance,  she  recoiled  a 
step  or  two  and  asked,  rather  haughtily  : 

"  "When  did  you  get  home  V" 

"  Only  a  few  moments  after  you  left  the 
house.  Do  change  your  dre.«3  tjuickly,  and 
como  down.     I  have  a  thousand  things  to  say."  I  stars,  she  never  stretches  my  brains  the  hun- 

Slie  waited  to  hear  no  more,  but  disengaged  i  dredtli  part  of  an  inch  to  comprehend  her  «le- 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

"  Come  out  on  the  colonnade;  the  air  is  de- 
licious." As  he  spoke,  Hugh  drew  his  cousin's 
arm  through  his,  and  led  the  way  from  the  tea- 
table. 

"  You  had  company  to  dine  to-day  ?" 

"  Yes;  if  I  had  known  that  you  were  coming 
home  to-day,  I  would  have  postponed  the  in- 
vitation till  to-morrow.  Grace  expressed  much 
disappointment  at  your  absence." 

"ludeedl  Of  course  I  am  duly  grateful. 
AVhat  a  pretty,  sweet  little  creature  she  is  I 
So  sprightly,  so  vivacious,  so  winning ;  so 
charmingly  ignorant  of  'Almacantar '  and 
'Azimuth,'  and  all  such  learned  stupidity. 
Unlike  some  royal  personages  of  my  actpiain- 
tance,   who  are    for  ever  soaring  among  the 


herself  and  went  to  her  room. 

"  Now,  child  !  why  will  you  do  so  ?  What 
makes  you  stay  out  so  late,  and  then  come 
thundering  back  like  a  hurricane  ? 
did  like  that  horse's  great  big  saucy,  shining, 
deviliah  eyes.  I  tell  Andrew  constantly  I  wisli 
he  would  manage  to  break  his  legs  while  he 
is  jumping  over  all  the  Icnces  on  the  place. 
You  scare  me  nearly  to  death  about  your  rid- 
ing; I  tell'  you,  beauty,  that  black  satan  will 
break  your  neck  Vet.  Your  grandfather  was 
flung  from  just  su(di  a  looking  brute,  and 
dragged  till  he  was  dead ;  and  some  day  that 
everlasting  long  hair  of  yours  will  drag  you  to 
your  grave.  Here  it  is  now,  all  streaming 
down  your  back  ;  yes — just  as  I  expected — 
not  a  blessed  hair-pin  left  in  it ;  done  galloped 
'em  all  clean  out.  You  will  ride  yourself  mto 
eternity.  Sit  down,  and  let  me  comb  it  out; 
it  is  all  in  a  tangle,  like  ravelled  yellow  silk." 

Nellie  looked  cloudy,  moody,  and  her  mis- 
tress offered  no  resistan<'e  to  her  directions. 

"  Mas'  Hugh  's  come." 

"Y'es;  I  know  it." 

"  But  you  don't  know  supper  is  ahnost  ready, 


liglitfid  prattle.     Like    Dickens'  '  Dora,'  she 

regards  any  attempt  to  rejison  with  her  as  a 

greater  insult  than  downright  scolding.     Your 

I  never  |  holemn  worshipper  was  also  present,  I  belie,Vb?" 

"  To  whom  do  you  allude  V" 

"  Your  tedious,  tiresome,  pertinacious  shad- 
ow, Herbert  Blackwell,  of  course  !  Do  you 
know  ith.-U  I  rletest  that  man  most  cordially  V" 

"  For  what  reason  V" 

"  I  really  do  not  feel  in  the  mood  to  enume- 
rate all  his  pec^cadilloes  and  disagreeable  traits  ; 
but  it  is  supremely  ridiculous  to  see  the  way  in 
which  he  hovers  round  you,  like  one  of  those 
large  black  moths  about  the  hall  lamp." 

"  Conie,  come,  Hugii !  Mr.  Blackwell  is  a 
man  whom  I  respect  and  esteem,  and  you  shall 
not  make  him  a  target  for  your  merriment." 

"  Oh,  doubtless  I  my  czarina!  and,  as  a  re- 
ward jbr  your  consideration,  he  would  fain 
confer  on  you  his  distinguished  hand  and 
forlune.  It'  is  quite  a  respectable  farce  to 
watch  him  watching  you." 

"  1  wiah  you  had  a  tithe  of  his  industry  and 
perseverance.  Did  it  ever  occur  to  you  that 
life  is  given  for  nobler  purposes  and  loftier  as- 


MACARIA 


S7 


pirations  than  hunting,  fishing,  horse-racing, 
gambling,  and  similar  modes  of  murdering 
time  which  you  habitually  patronize  ?" 

"  You  are  too  young  to  play  the  role  of 
Mentor,,  and  those  rare  red  lips  of  yours  were 
never  meant  for  homilizing.  Irene,  how  long 
do  you  intend  to  keep  me  in  painful  suspense  ?" 

"  I  am  not  aware  that  I  have  in  any  degree 
kept  you  in  suspense." 

"At  all  events  you  know  that  you  torture 
me  with  cool,  deliberate  cruelty." 

"  I  deny  your  charge  most  solemnly." 

"  My  dear  Irie,  let  us  understand  each  other 
fully,  for ." 

"  Nay,  Hugh — bn  honest ;  there  is  no  mis- 
apprehension whatever.  We  thoroughly  un- 
derstand each  other  already." 

"  You  sIkiII  not  evade  me ;  I  have  been  pa- 
tient, and  the  time  has  come  when  we  must 
talk  of  our  future.  Irene,  dearest,  be  gener- 
ous, and  tell  me  when  will  you  give  me,  irre- 
vocably, this  hand  whidh  has  been  promised 
to  me  from  your  infancy  ?" 

He  took  the  hand  and  carried  it  to  his  lips, 
but  she  forcibly  withdrew  it,  and,  disengaging 
her  arm,  said,  emphatically  : 

"  Never,  Hugh.     Never." 

"  How  can  you  trifle  with  me,  Irene?  If 
you  could  realize  how  impatient  I  am  for  the 
happy  day  when  I  shall  call  you  my  wife,  you 
would  be  serious,  and  fix  an  early  period  for 
our  marriage." 

"  Hugh,  why  will  you  aflect  to  misconceive 
my  meaning  ?  I  am  sei-ious ;  I  have  pondered, 
long  and  well,  a  matter  involving  your  life- 
long happiness  and  mine,  and  I  tell  you,  mest 
solemnly,  that  I  will  never  be  your  wife." 

"  Oh,  Irene  !  your  promise !  your  sacred 
promise  !" 

"1  never  gave  it!  On  the  contrary,  I  have 
never  failed  to  show  you  that  my  whole  nature 
rebelled  against  the  most  unnatural  relation 
forced  upon  me.  I  can  not,  shall  not,  hold 
myself  bound  by  the  promise  of  another  made 
when  I  was  an  unconscious  infant.  I  know 
the  family  compact,  sealed  by  my  father's 
word,  at  your  motlier's  death-bed,  making 
two  little  irresponsible  children  parties  to  a 
thoroughly  selfish,  ignoble  contract,  which  is 
revolting  to  me.  Your  future  and  mine  were 
adumbrated  fiom  ray  cradle,  and  that  which  i 
only  we  could  legitimately  decide  was  usurped  • 
and  predetermined.  You  have  known,  for  j 
years,  that  I  loathed  the  licartless  betrothal 
and  ignored  its  restrictions;  my  unalterable 
determination  was  very  apparent  when  you 
returned  from  Europe.  You  were  ke\)t  in  no 
pn>p('nse  ;  you  understood  me  then  as  fully  as 
now  ;  and  it  is  ungenerous,  umnanly,  to  press 
a  suit  which  you  can  not  fail  to  know  is  ex- 
tremely disagreeable  to  me." 

"  My  dear  Irene,  have  you,  then,  nolovo  for 
me?  1  have  hoped  and  believed  that  you 
hid  your  love  behind  your  cold  mask  of  proud  j 


silence.     You  must,  you  do  love  me,  my  beau- 
tiful cousin !"  , 

"  You  do  not  believe  your  own  words ;  you 
are  obliged  to  know  better.  I  love  you  as 
iuy  cousin,  love  you  somewhat  as  I  love  undo 
Eric,  love  you  as  the  sole  young  relative  left 
to  me,  as  the  only  companion  of  my  lonely 
childhood ;  but  other  love  than  this  I  never 
had,  never  can  have  for  you.  Hugh,  my 
cousin,  look'  fearlessly  at  the  unvarnished 
truth  ;  neither  you  nor  I  have  one  spark  of 
that  affection  which  alone  can  sanction  mar- 
riage. We  are  utterly  unlike  in  thought, 
taste,  feeling,  habits  of  life,  and  aspirations ; 
I  have  no  sympathy  with  yotir  pursuits,  you 
are  inv^ariably  afllicted  with  ennui  at  the  bare 
suggestion  of  mine.  Nature  stamped  us  with 
relentless  antagonisms  of  character ;  I  bow  to 
her  decree,  rather  than  to  man's  word.  Danto 
painted  no  purgatory  dark  enough  to  suit  tho 
wretchedness  tliat  would  result  from  such  an 
unhol}"  union  as  ours  Avould  be.  Think  of  it, 
Hugh;  a  loveless  marriage  ;  a  mere  moneyed 
partncrsliip;  a  sort  of  legal  contract;  the  only 
true  union  being  of  bank  stock,  railroad 
shares,  and  broad  plantations."  She  leaned 
against  one  of  the  pillars  with  her  arm?  folded, ' 
and  a  cold,  merciless  smile  curling  the  beauti- 
ful mouth. 

"  Indeed,  you  wrong  me !  my  worshipped 
cousin.  You  are  dearer  to  me  than  every- 
thing else  on  earth.  I  have  loved  you,  and 
you  only,  from  my  boyhood ;  you  have  been  a 
lovely  idol  from  earliest  recollection  !" 

"  You  are  mistaken,  most  entirely  mistaken  ; 
I  am  not  to  be  deceived,  neither  can  you 
hoodwink  yourself.  You  like  me,  you  love 
me,  in  the  same  quiet  way  that  I  love  you ; 
you  admire  me,  perhaps,  more  than  any  one 
you  change  to  know  just  now;  you  are  par- 
tial to  my  b(!aut3',  *'^^^  from  long  habit,  have 
come  to  regard  me  as  your  proi)erty,  much  in 
the  same  light  as  that  in  which  you  look  upon 
your  costly  diamond  buttons,  or  your  high- 
S]iirited  horses,  or  rare  imported  pointers.  Af- 
ter a  fashion  you  like  me,  Hugh  ;  I  know  you 
do ;  and,  my  cousin,  it  would  be  most  lamenta- 
ble and  unnatural  if  you  had  not  some  affec- 
tion for  me  ;  but  love  such  as  a  man  should 
have  for  the  woman  whom  he  makes  his  life- 
companion,  and  calls  by  the  sacred  name  of 
wif<',  you  have  not  one  atom*  of  I  do  not 
wisli  to  wound  you,  but  I  must  talk  to  you  as 
any  reasonable  woman  would  on  a  question 
of  such'great  importanee  ;  for  I  hold  it  no  light 
thing  for  two  souls  to  burden  themselves  with 
vows  which  neither  can  possibly  perform. 
Hugh,  I  abhor  shams  I  and  I  tell  you  now 
that  I  never  will  be  a  party  to  that  which 
others  have  arranged  without  my  consent." 

"  Ah  1  I  see  how  matters  stand.  Having 
disposed  of  your  heart,  and  lavished  your  love 
elsewhere,  you  shrink  from  fulfilling  the  sa- 
cred obligations  that  make  you  mine.     I  little 


83 


MAC  ARIA. 


dreamed  that  you  were  bo  Busceptible,  else  I 
had  not  left  you  feeling  so  secure.  Sly  uncle 
lias  not  proved  the  faithful  jruardian  I  be- 
lieved him  when  I  entrusted  my  tre;isure,  my 
affianced  bride  to  his  care." 

Bitter  disappointment  flaslicd  in  his  face 
and  quivered  in  his  voice,  renderinjj  him  reck- 
less of  consequences.  But  tliouuli  he  gazed 
fiercely  at  her  as  he  uttered  the  taunt,  it 
jiroduced  not  the- faintest  visible  effect;  the 
cloudless  chi.selled  face  still  wore  its  quiet  smile 
of  mild  irony,  and  the  low  clear  voice  pre- 
served its  sweetness. 

^  "  You  do  my  iather  rank  injustice,  IIu<Th. 
Not  Ladon  was  more  fiiithful  or  tireless  than 
he  has  been." 

"  He  can  not  deny  that  the  treasure  has 
been  stolen,  nevertlieless !" 

"  He  probably  can  and  will  deny  that  the 
golden  treasure  luis  been  snatched  from  his 
^aiardianship.  Another  Atlas  or  a  second 
Hercules  would  be  needed  for  such  a  theft." 

The  application  stung  him;  he  crimsoned, 


which  he   was 


k'ith  a  degre 
probably    u 


unconscious  at  the 


and  retorted   with  a  (Jesri't^e  of  bitterness  of 

which  h 

moment 

"  You,  at  least,  dare  not  deny  my  charge, 
my  truthful,  constant  Jimicee  !"  ' 

"  Either  you  over-estimate  my  supposed 
ofTencc.orunder-rate  my  courage;  there  are 
few  honorable  things  which  I  dare  not  do." 

"  Confess,  then,  who  stands  between  your 
heart  and  mine.  I  have  a  right  to  ask ;  I  will 
know." 

"  You  furget  yourself,  my  cousin.  Your  right 
is  obviously  a  debatable  question;  we  will  waive 
it,  if  you  please.  I  have  told  you  already,  and 
now  I  repeat  it  for  the  last  time,  I  will  not  go 
•vith  you  to  the  altar,  because  neither  of  us 
has  proper  affection  for  the  other  to  warrant 
such  a  union  ;  because  it  would  be  an  infamous 
pecuniary  contract,  revelling  to  every  true 
boul.  I  do  not  want  your  estate,  and  you 
should  be  content  with  your  ample  fortune 
witliout  coveting  my  inheritance,  or  consent- 
ing to  sell  your  manhood  to  manimon.  I 
Avould  not  suit  you  for  a  wife ;  go  find  some 
more  eongetiial  spirit,  some  gentle,  clinging 
girl,  who  will  live  only  in  your  love  and  make 
sou  forget  all  vise  in  her  presence.  I  have 
no  fancy  for  the  Gehenna  our  married  life 
v.ould  inevitably  prove.  Hencefortli  there  is 
no  margin  for  misappi'ehension  ;  understand 
that  we  meet  in  future  as  cousins,  only  as 
cousins,  acknowledging  no  other  relationship, 
no  other  tie  save  tllat,  of  consanguinity;  for 
I  do  not  hrisitatc  to  snap  the  links  that  were 
lorged  in  my  babyhood,  to  annul  the  unright- 
eous betrothal  of  other  hands.  Hugh,  cherish 
no  animosity  against  me  ;  I  merit  none.  Be- 
cause we  can  not  be  more,  shall  we  be  less 
than  friends?" 

She  held  out  her  hand,  but  he  was  too 
angry  to  accept  it,  and  asked,  haughtily  : 

''  Shall  I  break  this  pleasant  piece  of  infor- 


mation to  my,uncl«  ?  Or  do  you  feel  quite 
equal  to  the  task  of  blighting  all  his  long- 
cherished  hopes,  as  well  as  mine  V" 

"  I  leave  it  in  your  hands;  consult  your  dis- 
cretion, or  your  pleasure ;  to  me  it  matters 
little.  Remember  my  earnest  request,  that 
you  bear  me  no  malice  in  the  coming  years, 
(jood-night,  my  cousin." 

She  turned  to  leave  him,  but  he  caught  her 
dress,  and  exclaimed,  with  more  tenderness 
than  he  had  ever  manifested  before  : 

"  Oh,  Irene  I  do  not  reject  me  utterly  !  I 
can  not  relinquish  you.  Give  me  one  more 
year  to  prove  my  love  ;  to  win  yours.  If  your 
proud  heart  is  still  your  own,  may  I,  not  hope 
to  obtain  it,  by ." 

"  No,  Hugh  I  no.  As  well  hope  to  Inspire 
aflfection  in  yonder  mute  marble  guardians. 
Forgive  me  if  I  pain  you,  but  I  must  be  can- 
did at  every  hazard."  She  pointed  to  the 
statues  near  the  door,  and  went  through  the 
green -house  to  the  library,  thence  to  the 
observatory,  expecting,  ere  long,  to  be  joined 
b)'  her  father.  Gradually  the^  house  became 
quiet,  and,  oppressed  with  the  painful  sense  of 
coming  trouble,  she  sought  her  own  room  just 
a<j  the  clock  struck  twelve.  Pausing  to  count 
the  strokes,  she  .saw  a  light  gleaming  through 
the  key-hole  of  her  father's  door,  opposite  her 
own,  and  heard  the  sound  of  low  but  earnest 
conversation  mingled  with  ^le  restless  tramp 
of  pacing  feet.  She  was  powerfully  tempted 
to  cross  the  passage,  knock,  and  have  the 
ordeal  ended  then  and  there ;  but  second 
thought  whispered,  "  To-morrow  will  soon  bo 
here  ;  be  patient."  She  entered  her  room, 
and,  wearied  by  the  events  of  the  day,  fell 
asleep,  dreaming  of  the  new  lot  in  the  ceme- 
tery, and  the  lonely,  joyless  man  who  haunt- 
ed it. 

As  she  adjusted  her  riding-habit  the  follow- 
ing morning,  and  suflered  Andrew  to  arrange 
her  stirrup,  the  latter  said,  good-humoredly  : 

*'  So,  Mas'  Hugh  got  the  start  of  you?  It 
is  n't  often  he  beats  you." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  He  started  a  while  ago,  and,  if  he  drives  as 
he  {jcnerally  does,  he  will  get  to  his  plailtation 
in  time  for  dinner." 

"  Did  fathtr  go,  too?" 

"  No   ma'ni ;  bnlv  Mas'  Hugh,  in    his  own 

Jn  the  quiet,  leafy  laboratory  of  nature 
there  is  an  elixir  of  strength  for  those  wise 
enough  to  seek  it ;  and  its  subtle,  volatile 
properties  continually  come  to  the  relief  of 
wearied,  over -taxed  brains,  and  aching,  op- 
jjressed  hearts.  The  human  frame,  because  of 
its  keen  susceptibility  to  impressions  from  the 
external  world,  and  its  curious  adaptation 
thereunto,  becomes,  like  the  strings  of  an 
ylColian  iiarp,  attuned  perfectly  to  the  breath 
that  sweeps  it,  and  is  by  turns  the  exponent 
of  stormy  passitn  or  holy  resignation^  Thus 
from  the  cool  serenity,  the  dewy  sparkb,  and 


MACARIA. 


89 


delicate  perfume  of  the  early  morning,  Irene 
derived  a  renewal  of  strength  suQh  as  no 
purely  human  aid  could  have  furnish^.  She 
remembered  now  the  sibyllic  words  of  the 
young  minister:  "  You,  too,  must  tread  the  wine- 
press alone,"  and  felt  that  the  garments  of  her 
soul  were  taking  the  dye,  the  purple  stain  of 
the  wine  of  trial.  Doubtless  he  had  alluded 
to  a  different  ordeal,  but  she  knew  that  all  the 
future  of  her  earthly  existence  was  to  receive 
its  changeless  hue  from  this  day,  and  she  could 
entertain  but  a  modicum  of  doubt  as  to  what 
that  hue  would  prove.  Returning  from  her 
ride,  she  stood  a  moment  on  the  front  step, 
looking  down  the  avenue.  The  bermuda  ter- 
race blazed  in  the  sun-light  like  a  jewelled 
coronal,  the  billowy  sea  of  foliage,  crested  by 
dewy  drops',  flashed  and  dripped  as  the  soft  air 
stirred  the  ancient  trees,  the  hedges  were  all 
alive  with  birds  and  butterflies,  the  rich  aroma 
of  brilliant  and  countless  flowers,  the  graceful 
curl  of  smoke  wreathing  up  from  the  valley 
beyond,  the  measured  musical  tinkle  of  bells 
as  the  cows  slowly  descended  the  distant  hills, 
and,  over  all,  like  God's  mantling  mercy,  a 
summer  sky — 

"  As  blun  as  Aaron's  priestly  robe  appeared 
To  Aaron,  when  be  took  it  oU"  to  dio." 

Involuntarily  she  stretched  out  her  arms  to 
the  bending  heavens  and  her  lips  niOvcd,  but 
no  sound  escaped  to  tell  what  petition  went 
forth  to  the  All -Father.  She  went  to  her 
room,  changed  her  dress,  and  joined  her  father 
at  the  breakfast-table.  Half-concealed  be- 
hind Ills  paper,  he  took  no  notice, of  her  quiet 
"  good-morning,"  seeming  absorbed  in  an  edi- 
torial. The  silent  meal  ended,  he  said,  as  they 
left  the  table : 

"  I  want  to  see  you  in  the  library." 
She  follo||^d  him  without  comment ;  he 
locked  the  door,  threw  open  the  blinds,  and 
drew  two  chairs  to  the  window,  scatinn;  him- 
self immediately  in  front  of  her.  For  a  mo- 
ment he  eyed  her  eann-stly,  as  if  measuring 
her  strength  ;  and  she  saw  the  peculiar  sparkle 
in  his  falcon  eye,  which,  like  the  first  lurid 
flash  in  a  darkened  sky,  betokened  tempests. 
"  Irene,  I  was  very  much  astonished  to  learn 
the  result  of  an  interview  between  Hugh  and 
yourself;  I  can  scarcoly  believe  tlwit  you  were 
in  earnest,  and  feel  disposed  to  attribute  your 
foolish  words  to  some  trifling  motive  of  girlish 
coquetry  or  momentary  pique.  You  have 
long  been  perfectly  well  aware  that  you  and 
your  cousin  were  destined  for  each  other;  that 
I  .solemnly  promised  the  marriage  should  take 
])la(:e  as  soon  as  you  were  of  age ;  that  all  my 
plans  and  hopes  for  you  centered  in  this  one 
engagement.  ,  I  have  not,  pressed  the  matter 
on  your  attention  of  late,  because  I  knew  von 
had  sense  enouf;ii  to  appreciate  your  position, 
•and  because  I  believed  you  would  be  guided 
by  iny  wishep  in  this  important  aflTair.  You 
a«  no  longer  a  child ;  I  treat  you  aa  a  reason- 


able woman,  and 'now  I  tell  you  candidly  it  is 
the  one  wish  of  my  heart  to  see  you  Hugh's 
wife." 

He  paused,  but  she  made  no  answer,  and, 
faking  one  of  her  hands,  he  continued : 

"My  daughter,  I  can  not  believe  that  you, 
on  whom  I  have  lavished  so  much  love  and 
tenderness,  can  deliberately  refuse  to  accede 
to  my  wishes,  can  disappoint  my  dearest  hopes. 
Of  course,  in  all  that  I  do  or  counsel,  I  am 
actuated  only  by  a  desire  to  promote  your 
happiness.  My  dear  child,  I  have  a  right  to 
direct  you,  and  surely  your  alTefition  for  your 
only  parent  will  induce  you  to  yield  to  his 
wishes." 

'  He  tightened  his  clasp  of  her  cold  hand, 
and  leaned  toward  her. 

"  Father,  my  happiness  will  not  be  promot- 
ed by  this  marriage,  and  if  you  are  actuated 
solely  bythis  motive,  allow  me  to  remain  just 
as  I  am.  I  should  be  most  miserable  as  Hugh's 
wife ;  most  utterly  miserable." 

"  Why  so  ?" 

"  For  reasons  which  I  gave  him  last  night, 
and  which  it  is  hardly  necessary  for  me  to  reca- 
pitulate, as  he  doubtless  repeated  them  to  you." 

"  Let  me  hear  them,  if  you  please." 

"  Our  characters  are  totally  dissimilar;  our 
tastes  and  opinions  wide  as  the  poles  asunder; 
our  natures  could  not  possibly  harmonize; 
and,  more  than  all,  we  do  not  love  each  other 
as  people  should  who  stand  at  the  altar  and 
ask  GckI's  blessing  on  their  marriage.  I  sup- 
pose, sir,  that  Hugh  tells  you  he  1ovp.s  me  ; 
perhaps  he  likes  me  better  than  any  one  else 
beside  himself,  but  the  deep,  holy  affection 
which  he  ought  to  feel  for  the  woman  whom 
he  calls  his  wife,  has  no  existence  in  his  heart. 
It  will  prove  a  mere  temporary  disappoint- 
ment, nothing  seriously  touching  his  happi- 
ness ;  for,  I  assure  you,  that  is  not  in  my 
keeping." 

"  Ana  if  I  answer  that  I  know  the  con- 
trary to  be  true  V" 

"Father,  i  should  still  adhere  to  my  own 
opinion;  and,  even  were  I  disposed  to  accept 
vour  view  of  it,  my  own  fei  iings  would  stand 
I'.n  everlasting  banier  to  our  union.  I  do  not 
love  Hugh,  and — I  must  tell  you,  sir,  that  I 
think  it  wrong  for  cousins  to  marry." 

"  You  talk  like  a  silly  child  ;  I  thought  you 
had  more  sense.  Your  objections  I  have  list- 
ened to;  thpy  are  imaginary  and  trifling;  and 
I  ask  you,  as  a  father  has  a  right  to  ask  his 
child,  to  waive  these  ridiculous  notions,  and 
grant  the  only  request  I  have  ever  made  of 
you.  Tell  me,  my  daughter,  that  you  will 
eonsent  to  accept  your  cousin,  and  thereby 
make  me  happy." 

He  stooped  and  kissed  hor  forehead,  watch- 
ing her  countenance  eagerly.     ,  - 

"  Oh,  father !  do  not  ask  this  of  me  !  Jfcy- 
thing  el!>e  I  anything  eli^e." 

"  Answer  me,  my  darling  child ;  give  mo 
your  promise." 


9* 


MAC  ARIA. 


His  hold  was  painful,  and  an  angry  pant 
mingled  with  the  pleading  tones.  She  raised 
her  head  and  said,  slowly  : 

"My  lather,  I  can  not." 

Ha  threw  her  hand  from  him,  and  tpraiig 
up. 

"  Ingrate  !  do  you  mean  to  sa}-  that  you  will 
not  fulfil  a  sacred  engagement  V — that  you 
will  break  an  oath  given  to  tlie  dead  V 

"  I  do  not  hold  myself  bound  by  the  oaths 
of  Unother,  tliough  he  were  twice  my  father. 
1  am  responsible  for  no  acts  but  my  own.  Ko 
one  has  tlie  rijht  to  lay  bis  hand  on  an  uncon- 
scious inf.int,  slumbering  in  her  cradle,  and 
coolly  determine,  lor  all  time,  her  destiny. 
You  have  the  right  to  guide  me,  to  say  what  I 
shall  not  do  with  your  consent,  but  I  am  a 
free-born  American,  thank  God !  I  did  not 
draw  my  breath  in  Circassia,  to  be  bartered 
lor  gold  by  my  fatiier.  I,  only,  can  give  my- 
self away.  AVhy  should  you  Avish  to  force  this 
marriage  on  me  '/  Father,  do  you  think  that 
a  woman  has  no  voice  in  a  matter  involving 
her  happiness  lor  life  ?  Is  one  of  God's  holy 
•acraments  to  become  a  mere  pecuniary  trans- 
action y — only  a  legal  transfer  of  real  estate 
and  c«tton  bales  V  Oh,  my  father  !  would  you 
make  yourself  and  your  child  parties  *o  so 
ignoble,  so  loathsome  a  proceeding  V" 

"  Oh  I  I  suspected  that  your  cursed  obsti- 
nacy would  meet  mc  here,  as  well  as  elsewhere 
in  y»ur  life.  You  have  been  a  source  of  trou- 
ble and  t^rrow  from  j'our  bii-th  ;  but  the  time 
has  come  to  end  all  this.  I  will  not  be  trilled 
with  ;  1  tri«d  to  reason  with  you,  to  inlluence 
you  through  your  afl'ection,  but  it  s«ems  you 
have  none.  If  I  resort  to  other  measures  now, 
you  have  only  yoursell  to  tliank.  Irene,  there 
can  be  peace  betv/ecn  us,  but  upon  one  condi- 
tion;  1  have  set  ray  heart  on  seeing  you 
Hugh's  wife ;  nothing  less  will  satisfy  me.  I 
warn  you,  as  you  value  your  own  happiness, 
not  to  til  wart  me  ;  it  is  no  trivial  risk  tnat  you 
run.  I  tell  you  now,  I  wilrtnake  you  snlltr 
bcverely  if  you  dare  to  disobey  me  in  Vliis  mat- 
ter. You  know  that  I  never  menace  idly,  and 
if  you  refuse  to  hear  reason,!  will  utterly  dis- 
inherit you,  tliougli  you  are  my  only  child. 
I'ouder  it  well.  You  have  been  raised  in 
luxury,  and  taught  to  believe  yourself  one  of 
the  wealthiest  heiresses  in  the  state  ;  contrast 
your  present  position,  your  elegant  home,  your 
I'uslidious  tastes  gratified  to  the  utmost;  con- 
trast all  this,  I  say,  with  poverty  —  imagine 
yourself  left  in  the  world  without  one  cent ! 
Think  of  jt !  think  of  it!  My  wealth  is  my 
own,  mark  you,  and  I  will  give  it  to  whom  I 
please,  irrespective  of  all  claims  of  custom. 
Now  the  aUernative  is  fully  before  you,  and 
on  your  own  head  be  the  conseciuences.  Will 
yau  arcede  tp  my  wishes,  as  any  dutiful  child 
Bn||^ld,  or  will  you  deliberately  incur  my  ever- 
lasting disj)lea3urp  'i    Will  you  marry  Hugh  V" 

Both  rose,  and  stood  conli-ontingeach  •ther; 
bis  face  burning  with  wrath,  every  feature 


quivering  with  passion ;  hers  white  and  rigid 
as  a  statue's,  with  only  a  blue  cord-like  cres-' 
cent  between  the  arching  brows  to  index  her 
emotion.  Steadily  the  large  violet  eyes  looked 
into  those  that  regarded  her  so  angrily  ;  there 
was  no  drooping  of  the  long  tsilken  fringes ; 
no  moisture  dimming  their  depths ;  then  they 
were  raised  slowly,  as  if  to  the  throne  of  God, 
registaring  som«  vow,  and,  pressing  hei;.hands 
over  her  heart,  she  said,  solemnly  : 

"  Father,  I  will  not  marry  Hugh,  so  help 
me  (jod !" 

Silence  fell  between  them  for  Beveral  mo- 
ments; something  in  that  fixed,  calm  face  of 
his  child  awed  him,  but  it  waj  temporary,  and, 
with  a  bitter  laugh,  he  exclaimed  : 

"  Oh,  very  well !  Your  poverty  be  upon 
your  own  head  in  coming  years,  when  the 
grave  closes  over  m«.  At  my  death  ^ye.ry 
cent  of  my  property  passes  to  Hugh,  and  with 
it  my  name,  and  between  you  and  me,  as  an 
impassable  gulf,  lies  my  everlasting  displeas- 
ure. Understand  that,  thoun;h  we  live  here 
in  one  house,  as  father  and  child,  I  do  not,  and 
will  not,  forgive  you.  You  have  defied  me ; 
now  eat  the  bitter  fruit  of  your  disobedi- 
ence." 

"  I  have  no  desire  to  question  the  disposition 

of  your  wealth ;  if  you  prefer  to  give  it  to  my 

cousin,    I    am   willing,    perfectly    willing.      I 

woulil  rather  beg  my  bread  from  door  to  door, 

I  proud  though  I  am ;  I  would  sooner  soil  my 

!  Huntingdon    hands   by   washing  or  cooking, 

;  than  soil  my  soul  witii  perjury,  or  sell  myself 

I  for  gold.  It  is  true,  I  love  elegance  and  luxury; 

I  I  enjoy  wealth  as  well  as  most  people  do,  I 

1  suppose;  but  poverty  does  not  frighten  me  half 

\  so  much  fts  a  loveless  marriage.     Give  Hugh 

your  fortune,  it  you  wish,  but,  father  !  father  ! 

j  let  there  be   %o  estrangement  between   you 

\  and  me.     I  can  bear  everything  but  yourdis- 

j  pleasure ;  I  dread  nothing  so  mu(;h  as  the  loss 

i  ©f  your  love.     Oh,  father  !  forgive  a  disap- 

'  i)oi!ilinent  which    my  conscience    woujtl  not 

])erinit  me  to  avert.     Forgive  the  pain  which, 

God  knows,  I  would  not  have  caused  you,  if  I 

could  have  avoided  it  without  compromising 

I)rincii)le.  Oil,  my  fiUher  !   my  father  !   let  not 

dollars  and  cents  stand  between  you  and  your 

only  child.     I  ask  nothing  now  liut  yoiu"  love." 

1      She  drew  nearer,  but  he  waved  her  ofl"  and 

i  s:iid,  with  a  sneering  laugh  : 

!      "  Away  with  all  such  cant!  I  gave  you  the 

1  choice,  and  you  made  your  selection  with  your 

I  eyes    fully    open.     Accejit    poverty  as   your 

I  doom,  and  with  it  my  eternal  displeasure.     I 

intend  to  make  younuller  for  your  obstinacy. 

j  You  sliall  find,  to  your  8orrow,That  I  am  not  to 

be  trilled  with,  or  my  name  is  not  Leonard 

I  Huntingdon.     Now   go    your  own    way,  and 

find    what   a    thorny    path    you   have  made 

for  yourself."  , 

lie  pointed  to  the  door  as  he  had  done,  years 
before,  when  the  boarding-school  decree  went 
forthj.jHMl  without  remenstranee  she  left  him. 


MACARIA. 


91 


and  sat  down  on  the  steps  of  tlie  green-Louse. 
Soon  after,  the  sound  of  his  buggy  wheels  told 
her  that  he  had  gone  to  town,  and,  leaning 
her  cheek  on' her  hand,  she  recalled  the  pain- 
ful conversation  from  first  to  last.  That  he 
meant  all  he  had  threatened,  and  more,  she  did 
not  question  -for  an  instant,  and,  thinking  of 
her  future,  she  felt  sick  at  heart.  But  with 
the  shame  and  sorrow  came,  also,  a  thrill  of 
joy  ;  she  had  burst  the  fetters ;  she  was  free. 
Wounded  affection  bled  freely,  but  brain  and 
conscience  exulted  in  the  result-  She  could 
not  reproach  herself ;  she  resolved  not  to  re- 
proach her  father,  even  in  tUought.  Hers 
was  not  a  disposition  to  vent  its  griefs  and 
troubles  in  tears  ;  these  had  come  to  her  re- 
lief but  three  or  lour  times  in  the  course  of  a 
life,  and  on  this  occasion  she  felt  as  little  in- 
clination to  cry  as  to  repine  idly  over  what 
could  not  be  rectified.  Her  painful  reverie 
was  interrupted  by  the  click  of  approaching 
crutches,  and  she  rose  to  meet  her  uncle. 

"  Do  not  get  up,  Irene ;  I  will  sit  here  beside 
yoQ.     My  child,  look  at  me — are  you  sick?" 

"  No,  uncle  Eric ;  what  put  that  absurd  no- 
tion into  your  head  ?  I  rode  past  ycJur  door 
two  hours  ago,  and  was  powerfully  tempted  to 
•top  and  breakfast  with  your  bachelorship." 

He  regarded  her  anxiously,  noting  the  sin- 
gular crescent  on  her  pale  forehead,  and  con- 
necting it  with  the  scowling  face  of  his  brother- 
in-law,  which  had  passed  him  on  the  avenue. 
He  knew  that  something  very  unusual  had 
excited  the  calm,  inflexible  woman  till  the  hot 
blood  swelled  that  vein,  bjit  he  forebore  all 
question. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of,  uncle  Eric  ?" 

"  Only  of  a  line  in  a  poem  which  I  was 
reading  last  night.     Shall  I  quote  it  for  you  V 

"  '  A  still  Medusa,  with  mild  milky  brows 
AH  curdled .'" 

She  looked  in  his  face,  smiled,  and  passed 
her  hand  over  her  forehead,  hiding  the  blue 
cord.  I 

"  Ah  !  a  gentle  way  of  reading  me  a  lecture 
on  ill-temper.  I  lay  no  claim  to  saintship,  you 
know,  and  when  I  am  out  of  humor  my  face 
won't  play  the  hypocrite.  I  am  no  Griselda ; 
obviously  none  of  mj  name  can  ever  expect 
canonization  on  that  score.  Come  to  the  con- 
servatory ;  the  lemons  are  in  full  bloom,  and 
Marvellously  sweet.  Put  your  hand  on  my 
shoulder,  and  come  down  slowly." 

"  Where  is  Hugh  V  I  thought  he  came  home 
yesterday  ?" 

"  He  started  to  his  plantation  at  daylig^it. 
Take  care,  sir ;  these  flags  are  slippery  with 
dew  ;  your  crutches  are  unsafe." 


CHAPTER  XX. 

"  To -whit  —  to-whoo  !"     Muniii  stretched 
his  broad  gray  wings,  aod,  quitting  the  maniiti- 


piece,  perched  upon  the  top  of  the  easel, 
gazing  down  at  the  solitary  artist,  and  utter- 
ing all  the  while  a  subdued  melancholy  note 
of  complaint,  as  if  to,  attract  her  attention. 
She  looked  up,  and  held  out  her  hand,  coax- 
ingl.r- 

."  Munin  !  Munin  !  what  do  you  want  ?  You 
haunt- me  like  my  shadow.  Poor  pat,  true  to 
your  name,  you  pine  for  your  master." 

The  ruffled  plumes  smoothed  themselves, 
the  plaint  was  hushed.  He  fluttered  to  h^r 
shoulder,  received  her  soft,  caressing  touches 
with  evident  satisfaction,  nestled  his  beak  in 
her  shining  hair,  and,  then,  as  if  soothed  and 
contented,  flitted  to  the  open  window,  lle- 
sumingher  brush,  Electra  leaned  forward  and 
continued  her  work.  "  Lnhorare  est  orare  ;'* 
if  so,  no  more  ardent  devotee  ever  bowed  at 
the  shrine  of  toil,  bearing  sacrificial  offerings. 
Thoughts,  hopes,  aspirations,  memories,  all 
centered  in  the  chosen  profession  ;  to  its  prose- 
cution she  brought  the  strength  and  energy  of 
an  indomitablewill,  the  rich  ;ind  varied  re- 
sources (fi  a*  well-stored,  brilliant  intellect.  It 
was  evident  that  she  labored  con  tunore,  and 
now  the  expectation  of  approaching  triumph 
lent  additional  cagernevss  to  her  manner.  The 
fingers  trembled,  the  eyes  sparkled  unwonted- 
ly,  a  deeper,  richer  crimson  glowed  on  tho 
smooth  cheeks,  and  the  lips  parted  and  closed 
unconsciously.  The  tantahziiig  dreams  of 
childhood,  beautiful  but  evanescent,  had 
gradually  embodied  themselves  in  a  palpable, 
tangible,  glorious  reality ;  and  the  radiant,  wo- 
man exulted  in  the  knowledge  that  she  had 
but  to  put  forth  her  hand  and  grasp  it.  The 
patient  work  of  twelve  months  drew  to  a  close :  • 
the  study  of  years  bore  its  first  fruit ;  the  last 
delicate  yet  quivering  tou<;h  was  given  ;  she 
threw  down  pal-^tte  and  brush,  and,  stepping 
back,  surveyed  the  canvas.  The  Exhibitign 
would  open  within  two  days,  and  this  was  to 
be  her  contribuJaon.  A  sad-eyed  Cassandra, 
with  pallid,  present,  woe-struck  features — an 
over -mastering  face,  wherein  the  flickering 
light  of  divination  struggled  feebly  with  the 
human  horror  of  the  To-Come,  whose  hideous 
mysteries  were  known  only  to  the  royal 
prophetess.  In  mute  and  stern  despair  it 
looked  out  from  the  canvas,  a  curious,  anoma- 
lous thing — cut  adrift  from  human  help,  bereft, 
of  aid  from  heaven — yet,  in  its  doomed  isola- 
tion, scorning  to  ask  the  sym{)athy  whiah  its 
extraordinary  loveliness  extorted  from  all  who 
saw  it.  The  artist's  pride  in  this,  her  first  fin- 
ished creation,  might  well  be  pardoHcd,  for 
she  was  fully  conscious  that  the  cloud  -  region 
of  a  painful  novitiate  lay  far  beneath  her  ; " 
that  henceforth  she  should  never  miss  tho 
pressure  of  Ion? -coveted  chaplcts  from  her 
brow;  that  she  should  bask  In  the  warm,  fructi- 
fying rays  of  public  favor;  and  measure'es.'J 
exultation  flashed  in  her  beautiful  eyes.  The 
torch  of  Genius  burned  brightly,  as,  buoyant 
and   eager,  she  took  bor  place   in  the  great 


92 


MACUMA- 


lampadrome  of  life ;  but  would   it  endure  till  i 
the  end  ?    Would  it  lio:ht  up  the  goal  standing 
upon  the  termlnui  of  Tiine  ,:' 

The  door  opened,  and  Russell  came  into  the 
studio.  She  was  tiot  expecting  him  ;  his  sud- 
den appearance  gave  her  no  time  to  adjust 
the  chilling  mask  of  prido,  ajid  all  her  uncon- 
trolled affection  found  eloquent  language  in 
the  joyful  face. 

"  Rus3cU  !  my  own  dear  Russell !" 

He  drew  his  arm  around  her  and  kissed  her  ^ 
flushed  cheek,  and  each  looked  at  the  other,  i 
wondering  at  the  chaages  which  years  had  I 
wrought.  j 

"Electra,  you  have  cartainly  improved  , 
more  than  any  one  I  ever  knew.  You  look  I 
the  impersonation  of  perfect  health ;  it  is! 
needless  to  ask  how  you  are."  And  again  his  , 
lips  touched  the  beaming  face  pressed  against 
his  shoulder.  Her  arms  stole  tremblingly  ; 
around  his  neck,  past  indifference  was  for-  j 
gotten  in  the  joy  of  his  presence,  and  she  ] 
murmured : 

"  I  thought  I  should  not  see  you  before  I 
left  America.     1  can   not   tell   you   what   a 

! pleasure  this  surprise  is  to  me.  ,  Oli,  Russell !  ' 
[  longed  inexpressibly  to  be  with  you  once  | 
more.  Thank  you,  a  thousand  times,  for  i 
coming  to  me  at  last."  ' 

"  Dixl  you  suppose  that  I  intended  t6  let 
you  put  the  Atlantic  between  us  without 
making  an  effort  to  see  you  a^ain  ?  Were 
you  unjust  enough  to  believe  that  I  had  for- 
gott-cn  the  only  relative  whom  I  love  '?  My 
dear  little  skeptic,  I  have  come  to  prove  my 
affection,  and  put  yours  to  the  test." 

He  pressed  her  closer  to  his  heart,  but  sud- 
denly she  shrank  from  him,iinclasped  his  arm, 
and,  wheeling  two  chairs  to  the  window,  said, 
hurriedly  : 

"  Sit  down,  and  let  me  look  at  you.  Yon 
have  grown  so  tall  and  commanding  that  I  am 
half-afraid  of  my  own  cousin.  Y'ou  are  less 
like  aunt  Amy  than  formerly." 

"Allow  me  to  look  at  your  painting  first, 
for  it  will  soon  be  too  dark  to  examine  if,. 
This  is  the  Cassandra  of  which  you  wrote 
me." 

He  stood  before  it  for  some  moments  in 
silence,  and  she  watched  him  with  breathless 
eagerness — for  his  opinion  was  of  more  value  to 
her  than  that  of  all  the  dUeLlanti  and  connoii- 
seurs  who  would  soon  inspect  it.  Gradually 
his  dark,  cold  feca  kindled,  and  she  had  her 
reward.  v 

"  It  is  a  masterly  creation ;  a  thing  of  Tvon- 
derful  and  imperishable  beauty  ;  it  is  a  great 
success — as  such  the  world  will  receive  it — and 
hundreds  will  proclaim  your  triumph.  I  am 
proud  of  it,  and  doubly  proud  of  you." 

He  held  out  his  hand,  and,  as  she  put  her 
fingers  in  his,  her  head  drooped,  and  hot  tears 
blinded  her.  Praise  from  the  lips  she  loved 
best  stirred  her  womanly  heart  as  tiie  jipplause 
of  the  public  could  never  do;  and,  in  after 


years,  when  grief  and  loneliness  oppressed 
her,  these  precious  words  rang  sweet  and  sil- 
very through  the  darkened  cliambers  of  hfer 
soul,  working  miracles  of  comfort  infinitely 
beyond  the  potent  spell  of  Indian  0-U-AI,  or 
niy.-;tic  Agla.  Without  perceiving  her  emotion 
he  continued,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  pic- 
ture : 

"  Some  day  you  must  make  me  a  copy,  and 
I  will  hang  it  over  the  desk  in  my  office, 
where  I  can  feast  my  eyes  on  its  rare  loveli- 
ness and  my  ears  with  your  praises,  from  all 
who  see  it.  How  long  have  you  been  at  work 
upon  it  V"        • 

"  I  can't  recall  the  time  when  it  first  took 
hold  of  my  imagination ;  it  paced  by  my  side 
when  I  was  a  child,  brooded  ov-cr  me  in  my 
troubled  dreams,  looked  out  from  the  pomp  of 
summer  clouds  and  the  dripping  drab  skies  of 
winter,  iloated  on  snow-flakes,  and  flashed  in 
thunder-storms ;  but  I  outlined  it  about  a  year 
ago.  For  my  ICxhibition  picture,  I  wavered 
long  between  this  and  an  unfinished  Antig- 
one ;  but  finally  decided  in  favor  of  Cas- 
sandra." 

"And  selected  wisely.  While  in  Europe  I 
saw,  in  a  private  house,  an  exquisite  head  of 
the  ^  Erythrccan  Sybil,'  which  somewhat  re- 
sembles your  painting.  The  position  is  almost 
identical  —  the  nose,  mouth,  and  chin  very 
similar  ;  but  the  glory  of  this  Cassandra  is  the 
supernatural  eyes,  brimful  of  prescience.  .  It 
might  allord  matter  for  curious  speculation, 
however,  and  some  time  we  will  trace  the  subtle 
law  of  association  of  ideas  by  which  two 
artists,  separated  by  the  Atlantic,  and  by  cen- 
turies, clianced,  under  totally  different  cir-- 
cumstances,  tg  portray  similarly  the  two  dis- 
tinct prophetesses  who  both  foretold  the  doom  _' 
ol"  Troy." 

"  If  6uch  is  the  case,  the  world  will  be  very 
sceptical  of  the  coincidence.  I  did  not  even 
know  tliat  there  was  an  ^  Erythrccan  Sybil,' 
nnich  less  a  picture  of  her  ;  so  much  for  igno- 
rance !  The  critics  who  knew  that  I  did  not 
paiut  your  portrait,  simply  because  it  was  well 
dooe,  will  swear  that  I  stole  the  whole  of  my 
Cassandra,"  answered  Electra,  perplexed  and 
troubled. 

^'  You  need  not  look  so  rueful,  and  plough 
your  forehead  with  that  heavy  frown.  In  all 
probability  1  am  the  only  person  in  New  York 
who  has  seen  the  other  picture  ;  and,  granting 
tlie  contrary^  tlie  resemblance  might  not  bo 
detected.  If  j^ou  suffer  it  to  annoy  you  I  shall 
be  sorry  that  I  mentioned  it.  Yet,  I  doubt  not, 
the  withering  charge  of  plagiarism  has  often 
be(!n  hurled  in  the  face  of  an  honest  worker, 
(juitc  as  unjustly  as  it  would  be  in  your  case. 
Very  startling  coincidences  sometimes  occur 
most  innocently ;  but  carjjing  envy  is  a  thrifty 
plant,  and  flourishes  on  an  astonishingly  small 
amount  of  soil." 

'^  Who  painted  that  Sibyl  ?" 

"  It  is  not  known   positively.     Travelling 


MACARIA. 


93 


through  the  northern  part  of  France,  I  was 
detained  some  hours  at  a  A'illage,  and  employ- 
ed the  delay  in  rambling  about  the  suburbs. 
Following  a  winding  road  it  brought  me  to  the 
enclosure  of  a  chateau,  and  I  leaned  on  the 
fence  and  admired  the  parterre,  whioh  was 
uncommonly  pretty.  The  owner  happened 
to  be  among  his  llower-beds,  saw  mc,  and,  with 
genuine  French  politeness  and  urbanity,  in- 
sisted that  I  should  enter  and  rest  myself 
while  he  gathered  me  a  bouquet  of  mignonette 
and  pinks.  The  afternoon  was  warm,  and  I 
asked  for  a  glass  of  water.  He  took  me  into 
the  house,  and  on  the  parlor  Avail  hung,  this 
picture.  It  riveted  my  attention,  and  flattered, 
doubtless,  by  my  evident  admiration,  he  gave 
me  its  history.  His  father  had  found  it  at  a 
picture-shop  in  Germany,  I  forget  now  exactly 
where,  and  bought  it  for  a  Dolce,  but  doubted 
its  genuineness ;  and  my  host,  who  seemed 
thoroughly  au  fait  in  Art  matters,  asserted 
that  it  belonged  to  a  much  earlier  school. 
That  is  all  that  I  or  the  owner  know  of  it ;  so 
dismiss  the  subject  from  your  mind." 

"  I  shall  not,  I  promise  you.  Give  me  minute 
directions,  and  1  will  hunt  up  chateau,  migno- 
nette, gentlemanly  proprietor,  Sibyl,  and  all. 
AVho  knows  but  metempsychosis  may  be  true 
after, all,  and  that  the  painter's  soul  possesses 
me  bodily,  striving  to  portray  the  archetype 
which  haunted  him  in  the  last  stage  of  exist- 
ence ?  According  to  Vaughan,  the  Portuguese 
have  a  superstition  that  the  soul  of  a  man  who 
has  died  leaving  some  duty  unfulfilled,  or 
promised  work  unfinished,  is  frequently  known* 
to  enter  into  another  person,  and,  dislodging 
for  a  time  the  rightl'ul  soul-occupant,  impel 
him  unconsciously  to  complete  what  was  lack- 
ing,"   A 

"  You    are    growing    positiTely    paganish, 

Electra,  from  constant  association  with    the 

•  dead  deities  of  classic  ages,  and  I  must  reclaim 

you.      Come,  sit  down,  and  tell  me  something 

t    of  yonr  life  since  the  deatli  of  your  friend, 

Mr.  Clifton."  I 

"  Dill  you  receive  my  last  letter,  giving  an  , 
account  of  Mrs.  Clifton's  death  ?"  j 

"  Yes;  just  as  I  stepped  upon  the  platform  I 
of  the  cars  it  was  handed  to  me.     I  had  heard  \ 
nothing  from  you  for  so  long,  that  I  thought 
it  was  time.' to  look  after  you." 

"  You  had  started,  then,  before  you  knew 
that  I  was  going  to  Europe  ?" 

"  Yes." 

He  could  not  understand  the  instantaneous 
change  which  came  over  her  countenance — 
the  illumination,  followed  as  suddenly  by 
a  smile,  half  compassionate,  half  bitter.  She 
pre.sred  one  hand  to  her  heart,  and  said  :  j 

"  Mrs.  Clifton  never  .seemed  to  realize  her 
eon's  death,  thougli,  after  paralysis  took  place. 


and  she  became  .'speechless,  I  thought  she  re- 
cove<H?d  her  rai-mory  in  some  degree.  She 
survived  him  just  four  months,  and,  doubtless, 
was  saved  muvh  grief  by  her  unconsciousness  I  mc.     You  can  continue  your  art-studies,  if  you 


of  what  had  occurred.  Poor  old  lady !  she 
suffered  little  for  a  year  past,  and  died,  T  hope, 
without  pain.  I  have  the  consolation  of  know- 
ing that  I  did  all  that  could  be  done  to  promote 
her  comfort.  Russell,  I  would  not  live  here 
for  any  consideration  ;  nothing  but  a  sense  of 
duty  has  detained  me  this  long.  I  promised 
him  that  I  would  not  forsake  his  mother. 
But  you  can  have  no  adequate  conception  of 
the  feeling  of  desolation  which  comes  over  mo 
when  I  sit  here  during  theloiig  evenings.  He 
seems  Avatching  me  from  picture-frames  and 
pedestals;  his  face,  bss  pleading,  patient,  wan 
face,  haunts  mc  perpetually.  And  yet  I  tried 
to  make  him  happy ;  God  knows  I  did  my 
duty." 

She  sprang  up,  and  paced  the  room  for  some 
moments,  with  her  hands  behind  her,  and 
tears  glittering  on  her  cheeks.  Pausing  at 
last  on  the  rug,  she  pointed  to  a  large  square 
object  closely  shrouded,  and  added : 

"  Yonder  stands  his  last  picture,  unfinished. 
The  day  he  died  he  put  a  few  feeble  strokes 
upon  it,  and  bequeathed  the  completion  of 
the  task  to  me.  For  several  years  he  worked 
occasionally  on  it,  but  much  remains  to  be 
dona.  It  is  the  '  Death  of  Socrates.'  I  have 
not  even  looked  at  it  since  that  night ;  I  do  n,ot 
intend  to  touch  it.  until  after  I  visit  Italy;  I 
doubt  whether  mjf.;hand  will  ever  be  steady 
enough  to  give  the  last  strokes.  Oh,  Russell ! 
the  olden  time,  the  cottage  days  seem  far,  far 
off  to  me  now!" 

Leaning  against  the  mantle-piece,  she  drop- 
ped her  head  on  her  hand,  but  Avhen  he  ap- 
paoached  and  stood  at  the  opposite  corner  he 
saw  that  the  tears  had  dried. 

"  i\ either  of  us  has  had  a  sunny  life,  Electra  ; 
both  have  had  numerous  obstacles  to  contend 
with  ;  both  have  very  bitter  memories.  Orig- 
inally there  was  a  certain  parallelism  in  our 
characters,  but  with  our  growth  grew  the  di- 
vergence. You  have  preserved  the  nobler 
part  of  your  nature  better  than  I ;  for  my  years 
1  am  far  older  than  you  ;  none  of  the  bright- 
ness of  iwj  boyhood  seems  to  linger  about  me. 
Contact  with  the  Avorld  is  aij  indurating  proc- 
ess ;  I  really  did  not  know  how  hard  I  had 
grown,  until  I  felt  my  heart  soften  at  sight  of 
you.  I  need  you  to  keep  the  kindly  charities 
and  gentle  amenities  of  life  before  me,  and, 
therefore,  I  have  come  for  you.  But  for  my 
poverty  I  never  would  have  given  you  up  so 
long;  I  felt  that  it  would  be  for  your' advan- 
tage, in  more  than  one  respect,  to  remain  with 
Mr.  Clifton  until  I  had  acquired  my  profes- 
sion. I  knew  that  you  would  enjoy  privileges 
here  which  I  could  not  give  you  in  my 
straightened  circumstances.  Things  have 
changed;  Mr.  Campbell  has  admitted  me  to 
partnership ;  my  success  I  consider  an  estab- 
Jiihed  fact.  Give  up,  for  a  sfe.isou,  this  project- 
ed tour  of  Europe  ;.wait  till  I  can  go  with  you, 
till  I  can  take  you  ;  go  back  to  W with 


94 


MACARIA. 


•wish  it ;  you  can  prosecute  them  tliere  as  well 
as  here.  You  are  ambitious,  Eleclra ;  ?o  am  I, 
let  us  work  together." 

She  raised  her  head  and  looked  up  at  the 
powerful,  nobly-proportionod  form,  the  grand, 
Kingly  face,  calm  and  colorless,  the  large, 
searcliinp  black  eyes,  within  whose  baffling 
depths  lay  all  the  mysteries  of  mesmerism, 
and  a  spasm  of  pain  seized  her  own  features. 
She  shadod  her  orow,  and  answered: 

"No,  Russell;  I  ceuld  not  entertain  that 
thought  an  instant." 

"  Are  you  too  proud  to  accept  a  honio  from 
me  ?" 

"  Not  too  proud, exactly;  but,  as  long  as  I 
have  health,  I  mean  to  make  a  support.  I 
will  not  burden  you." 

"  What  bunglers  you  women  are  at  logic  ! 
The  thought  of  living  on  my  charity  affrights 
you,  and  jet  you  fly  from  me  to  the  cold  chari- 
tv  of  the  world — for  what  else  is  fleeting,  fickle 
'public  favor  —  fitful  public  patronage  or 
praise  ?" 

"  Full  value  received  for  benefit  rendered, 
is  not  charity ;  beside,  Russell,  you,  too,  seek 
and  subsist  upon  this  same  fickle  public 
favor." 

"  Partially,  I  grant  you ;  but  T  cround  my 
claims  far  deeper  than  yop ;  I  strike  down, 
taking  root  in  the  substratum  of  selfishness. 
Interest,  individual  interest,  is  the  outpost  of 
which  I  am  paid  to  be  the  sentinel;  stern  ne- 
cessity is  my  guardian  ang<'l,  compelling  all 
men  to  see  that  my  wages  are  inviolate.  I 
stand  in  the  great  brain-market  place,  and 
deal  with  mankind  in  the  normal,  every-day 
manifestations  of  avarice,  selfishness,  or  hate  ; 
profit  and  loss  the  theme  —  dollars  or  blood 
the  currency.  M.  Quet-^det,  one  of  the  m«st 
eminent  statisticians  of  Europe,  has  proved 
that,  in  a  given  population,  a  given  number  of 
crimes  will  annually  be  committed ;  so  you  see 
that,  in  this  market,  also,  production  keeps  pace 
with- consumption,  and  legal  counsel  is  necessi- 
tated. On  the  contrary,  you  address  yourself 
to  a  class  of  emotions  fluctuating  and  short- 
lived— common  to  comparatively  few — involv- 
ing no  questions  of  utility — luxuries,  not  ne- 
cessities. Yours  is  a  profession  of  contingen- 
cies ;  not  so  mine ;  for  injustice,  duplicity, 
theft,  are  every-day,  settled  certainties.  A 
man  will  give  me  one  half  of  his  cstat',!  to  save 
the  ot,hcr,  which  the  chicane  of  his  neighbor 
threatens." 

"  And  if  that  villainous,  avaricious  neighbor 
had  emi)laycd  you  half  an  hour  before  the  in- 
jured man  sought  to  engage  your  services?" 

"  Why,  then,  the  lawyer  next  in  his  estima- 
tion gets  tlie  case,  and  it  is  resolved  into  a 
simple  question  of  his  superior  adroitn^s, 
acumen,  and  industry,  or  mine.  The  world  is 
hard  upon  lawyers,  its  faithful  servants,  and 
holds  them  up  as  moral  monsters  to  the  very 
children  whose  mouths  their  labor  fills  with 
bread.     An  errdneons  and   most  unjust  im- 


'  prcssion   prevails  that   a  lawyer   of   ability. 

filus  extensive  practice,  equals  Bacon,  Jefl"rie!fi, 
mp«y,  or  some  other   abnormal  disgrace  to 
jurisprudence;  whereas,  the  sole  object  of  the 
institution  of  law  is  to  sacure  right,  justice, 
and  truth.     You  arc  opening  your  lips  to  ask 
if  the  last  is  not  often  wilfully  suppressed  ? 
Ilcmember  that    even   the   Twelve    found  a 
Judas  among  their  number,  and  the  provision 
!  of  counsel  is  to  elicit  truth,  and  all  the  truth, 
I  on  both  sides.     I  bring  testimony  in  defence 
j  of  all  that  is  susceptible  of  proof  in  my  client's 
favor,  and  it  is  the  business  of  the  opposite 
I  counsel  to  do  likewise;  if  he  neglects  his  duty, 
or,  through  lack  »( intellect,  luffers  me  to  gain 
j  the  case,  even  against  real  justice,  am  I  culpa- 
i  ble  ?     I  did  my  duty  ;  he  Jailed  to  defen<l  his 
'  cause,  however  righteous,  and  on  his  shoulders 
rest  the  turpitude." 

j      "Ah,  Rus.sell  I  you  have  taken  a  diploma  in 
I  the  school  of  sophistry." 

[  "  I  am  content  that  you  should  think  so, 
1  since  a  recent  great  historian  has  decided  that 
the  Sophists  were  a  sadly  maligned  sect,  and, 
instead  of  becoming  a  synonyme  of  reproach, 
merited  the  everlasting  gratitude  of  mankind, 
I  as  the  tireless  public  teachers  of  Greece — the 
walking-school  system  of  Athens  in  her  impe- 
rial, palmy  days." 

"  I  never  will  believe  that !  I  wish  to 
heaven  archajologists  would  let  the  dust  of 
Athens  rest,  instead  of  ploughing  it  up  peri- 
odically with  the  sacrilegious  shares  of  new- 
fangled theories." 

"And  thereby  exhuming  the  mouldering 
bones  of  some  of  your  favorite  divinities,  I 
suppose?  The  literary  philhellenism  of  the 
present  age,  and  especially  its  philologic  ten- 
dency, is  last  hunting  the  cjassic  spectres  of 
the  heroic  times  into  primeval  shade.  Old- 
fogyism  in  literature  is  considered,  I  believe, 
([uite  as  unpardonable  as  in  politics.  Take 
care  how  you  handle  the  Sophists,  for  I  hold 
that  tlicy  (lifTercd  in  but  one  respect  from  your  / 
hero,  Socrates." 

"  You  shall  not  insult  his  memory  by  any 
such  disgraceful  association,"  interrupted  hit   . 
cousin. 

"And  that  difference,"  he  continued,  with- 
out heeding  her,  "  consists  in  the  fact  that 
they  taught  for  money,  while  he  scorned  to 
accept  remuneration.  Sydney  Smith  main- 
tains that  '  Socrates  invented  common  sense 
two  thousand  years  ago,  as  Ceres  invented  the 
plough,  and  Bacchus  intoxication.'  I  should 
receive  the  diclum  more  readily  if  he  had 
pocketed  the  honest  wages  of  his  talents,  in- 
stead of  deluding  himself  with  the  belief  that 
he  was  the  heaven-appointed  regenerator  of 
Athens,  and  making  his  labors  purely  eleemo- 
synary, to  the  possible  detriment  of  his  family. 
VVho  knows  but  that,  after  all,  Xantippe  de- 
served a  place  in  martyrology,  having  been 
driven  to  paroxysms  of  rage  and  desperation 
by  an  empty  purse,  or  wretehad  household 


MACARIA. 


95 


derangements,  victimized  by  her  husband'* 
cosmopolitan  mission  ;  for  it  is  a  notorious  fact 
that  men  who  essay  to  manage  the  opinions  of 
the  world  invariably  neglect  their  domestic 
afiairs,  and  allow  them  to  run  to  ruin." 

"  f'ive  years  ago  you  would  not  have  said 
that,  Russell,  and  I  think  it  questionable 
whether  you  believe  it  all  now.  I  hold  my 
profession  a  nobler  one  than  yours,  and  dispute 
your  predicate  that  it  involves  no  utility. 
Whatever  tends  to  exalt,  to  purify,  to  ennoble, 
is  surely  useful ;  and  aesthetics,  properly  di- 
rected, is  one  of  the  most  powerful  engines  of 
civilization.  See  what  it  Avrought  for  Athens." 

"  You  mistake  effect  for  cause'.  jJThc  free- 
dom of  Athens  was  the  lever  which^ised  it  to 
such  a  pitch  of  glory  ;  as  a  sequence,  the  arts 
flourished  and  beauty  was  apotheosized.  When 
freedom  perished  the  arts  received  their  death- 
blow, and,  impotent  to  preserve  the  prosperity 
of  the  city,  shed  a  lingering  halo  around  its 
melancholy  but  majestic  ruin.s.  •  That  aesthet- 
ics and  utility  are  synonymes,  is  an  axiom 
which  might  find  acceptation  in  '  Bensalem  ;' 
but  in  tliis  intensely  practical,  mechanical 
epoch  of  human  history,  and  this  money-mak- 
ing quarter  of  the  globe,  you  must  educate 
the  masses  up  to  an  entirely  different  level, 
before  you  can  expect  them  to  receive  it." 

"  And,  so  far  as  my  feeble  influence  extends, 
or  my  limited  ability  will  permit,  I  purpose  to 
become  such  a  teacher.  Do  not  laugh  at  me, 
Russell,  I  beg  of  you." 

"  I  smile  at  the  beautiful  dream,  rather  than 
the  enthusiastic  dreamer.  So,  doubtless, 
dreamed  Phidias,  Praxiteles,  and  the  Rhdian 
Trio,  and  only  a  few  time-corroded  blocks  of 
marble  remain  in  attestation.     Cui  bono?" 

"  Yours  and  mine  ! — for  dead  nations,  and 
for  generations  yet  unborn,  who  shall  gaze 
upon  their  noble  and  imperishable  monuments. 
You  are  worse  than  Goth  or  Vandal,  if  you 
can  ignore  their  softening,  spiritualizing  influ- 
ence —  for  even  they,  rude  and  untutored, 
bowed  before  their  immortal  beauty.  What 
has  come  over  you,  Russell,  hardening  your 
nature,  and  sealing  the  sources  of  genial,  genu- 
ine appreciation  ?" 

"  The  icy.breath  of  experience,  the  crystaliz- 
ing  touch  of  years.  You  must  not  be  sio  se- 
vere upon  me,  I^lpctra  ;  many  a  time,  since  we 
parted,!  have  left  my  desk  to  watch  a  gorgeous 
sunset,  and  for  a  few  minutes  fancy  myself 
once  more  leaning  on  the  garden-gate  of  my 
early  home.  I  love  beauty,  but  I  subordinate 
it  to  the  practical  utilities  of  life.  1  have  little 
time  for  aesthetic  musings;  I  live  among  dis- 
enchanting common -place  realities.  It  is 
■woman's  province  and  prerogative  to  gath- 
er up  the  links  of  beauty,  and  bind  them 
as  a  p.arland  round  her  home  ;  to  fill  it  with 
the  fragrance  of  deW)'  flowers,  the  golden 
light  of  western  skies,  the  low  soothing  strains 
of  music,  which  can  chant  all  care  to  r«8t ; 
which  will  drewn  the  clink  of  dollars  and 


cents,  and  lead  a  man's  thoughts  to  purer, 
loftier  themes.  Ah  !  there  is  no  apocah'pse 
of  joy  and  peace  like  a  happy  home,  where  a 
woman  of  elegance  and  refinement  goes  to  and 
fro.  This  recalls  the  object  of  my  visit.  You 
say,  truly,  that  full  value  received  for  benefit 
rendered  is  not  charity ;  apply  your  princi- 
ple, come  to  W ,  share  my  future,  and 

what  fortune  I  may  find  assigned  me.  I  have 
bought  the  cottage,  and  intend  to  build  a 
handsome  house  there  some  day,  where  you, 
and  Mr.  Campbell,  and  I  can  live  peacefully. 
You  shall  twme  your  aesthetic  fancies  all 
about  it,  i<\  make  it  picturesque  enough  to  suit 
your  fastidious  artistic  taste.  Come,  and  savo 
me  from  what  you  consider  my  worse  than 
vaiidalian  proclivities.  I  came  here  simply 
and  solely  in  the  hope  of  prevailing  on  you  to 
return  with  me.  I  make  this  request,  not  be- 
cause I  think  it  will  be  expected  of  me,  but  for 
more  selfish  reasons — because  it  is  a  matter 
resting  very  near  my  heart." 
"  Oh,  Russell !  you  tempt  mc." 
"  I  wish  to  do  so.  My  bloed  beats  in  your 
veins;  you  are  the  only  relative  I  value,  and 
were  you  Indeed  my  sister,  I  should  scarcely 
love  you  more.  With  all  a  brother's  interest, 
why  should  I  not  claim  a  brother's  right  to 
keep  you  with  me,  at  least  until  you  find  your 
Pylades,  and  give  him  a  higher  claim  before 
God  and  man  ?  Elcctra,  were  I  your  brother 
you  would  require  no  persuasion ;  why  hesitate 
now  ?" 

She  clasped  her  hands  behind  her,  as  if  for 
support  in  some  fiery  ordeal,  and,  gathering  up 
her  strength,  spoke  rapidly,  like  one  who  fears 
that  resolution  will  fail  before  some  necessary 
sentence  is  pronounced. 

"  You  are  very  kind  and  generous,  Russell, 
and  for  all  that  you  have  offered  me  I  thank 
you  from  the  depths  of  a  full  heart.     The 
consciousness  of  your  continued  interest  and 
aflbotion  is  inexpressibly  precious:  but  my  dis- 
position is  too  much  like  your  own  to  suffer 
me  to  sit  down  in  idleness,  while  there  is  so 
much  to  be  done  in  the  world.     I,  too,  want 
to  earn  a  noble  reputation,  which  will  surviva 
long  a(ter  I  have  been  gathered  to  my  fathers  ; 
I  want  to  accomplish  some  work,  looking  upon 
wliich,    my    fellow  -  creatures    will   proclaim: 
'That  woman  has  not  lived  in  vain;  the  world 
is  better  and  happier  because  she  came  and 
labored  in  it.'      I  want  ray  name  carved,  not 
on   monumontal   marble  only,  but  upon  the 
living,  throbbing  heart  of  my  age! — stamped 
indftilblyon  the  generation  in  which  mv  lot  is 
cast.     Perhaps  I  am  too  sanguine  of  success  ; 
j  a  grievous  disappointment  may  await  all   my 
I  ambitious  hopes,  but  failure  will  come  from 
want  of  gtnius,  not  Lvk  of  perjsevering,  pa- 
i  tient  toil.     Upon  the  threshold  of  my  career, 
I  facing  the  loneliness  of  coming  years,  I  resign 
i  that  hope  with  wl;ich,  like  a  golden  thread, 
j  Bicst  women  embroider  their  future.     I  dedi- 
1  cate  myself,  my  life,  unreservftdiy  to  Art." 


95 


MAC1.RIA. 


"  Yon  beliere  that  you  will  be  happier 
among  the  marble  and  canvas  of  Italy  than  iu 
W with  liie?" 

"  Yes ;  I  shall  be  better  Ralisflod  there.     All 
my  life  it  has  gleamed  afar  off,  a  ;rlorious  laad 
of  promise  to  my  eaf;er,  lonuiiii;  spirit.     From  I 
childhood  I  iiave  cherished  the  hope  of  reach-  | 
infj  it,  and  the  fruition  is  near  at  hand.     Italy  !  I 
bright  Alma  Mater  of  the  art  to  which  I  con- 
secrate my  years.     Do  you  wonder  that,  like 
a  lonely  child,  I  stretch  out  my  arms  toward  I 
it  ?     Yet  my  stay  therij  will  be  but  for  a  sea- ; 
son.     I  go  to  complete   my  studies,  to  make 
myself  a  more  perfect  instrument  for  my  noble 
work,  and  then  I  shall  come  home — come,  not 
to   New  York,  but  to  my  own    dear  native 

South,  to  W ,t}ial  1  may  labor  under  the 

8ha<low  of  its  lofty  pines,  and  within  hearin;^ 
of  it-s  murmurinir  river — <learcr  to  me  than 
classi<i  Arno,  or  immortal  Tiber.  I  wrote  you 
that  Mr.  Clifton  had  left  me  a  legacy,  which, 
judii'iously  invested,  will  defray  my  expensrs 
in  Europe,  where  living  is  cheaper  than  in 
this  country.  Mr.  Young  has  taken  charge  of 
the  money  for  me,  and  has  kindly  olVered  to 
attend  to  my  remittauces.  Aunt  Ruth's 
friends,  the  liichardsons,  consented  to  wait 
for  me  until  after  the  opening  of  the  Exhibi- 
tion of  the  Aeademy  of  Design,  and  one  week 
from  to-morrow  we  expect  to  sail." 

"  What  do  you  know  oCthe  family  ?" 

"  Nothing,  except  that  the  lady,  who  is  an 
old  friend  of  my  aunt,  is  threatened  with  con- 
sumption, and  has  been  advised  to  spend  a 
year  or  two  in  Florence.  Aunt  Ruth  took  me 
to  see  her  the  other  day  ;  she  seems  intelligent 
and  agreeable,  and,  I  dare  say,  1  shall  find  her 
kind  and  pleasant  enough." 

"  Since  such   is  the  progranniie  you   have 
marked  out,  I  trust  that  no  disappointments 
await  you,  and   that  all  your  bright  dreams  ' 
may  be   realized.      But,  if   it  should   prove 
otherwise,  and  yeu  grow  weary  of  your  art, 
sick  of  isolation,  and  satiated  with  Italy,  re-  J 
member  that  I  shall  welcome  you  homo,  and 
gladly  shai(t  with  you  all  that  I  possess.     You  ' 
arc  embarking  in  an  experiment  which  thous-  ! 
ands    have    tried    before   you,   aii<l   wrecketl 
happiness  upon ;  but  I  have-no  rigiit  to  control  ' 
your  future,  and  certainly  no  dij.sire  to  discour-  , 
age  you.     At  all  events.  1  hope  our  separation  ' 
will  be  brief."  : 

A  short  silence  followed,  broken  at  last  by  i 
Electra,  who  watched  him  keenly  as  she  i 
spoke  : 

"  Tell  me  something  about  Irene.  Of  course,  i 

in  a  small  town  like  W ,  you  must  see 

her  frequently." 

"  By  no  means.  I  think  I  have  seen  her  , 
bjit  three  times  since  her  childhood — once] 
riding  with  her  father,  then  accidentally  at 
church,  and  again,  a  few  evenings  before  I 
left,  at  the  graveyard,  where  she  was  dressing 
a  tombstone  with  flowers.  There  we  ex- 
changed  a  few  words  for  the  first  time,  and 


thi>  reminds  mo  that  I  am  bearer  of  a  message 
yet  undelivered.  She  inquired  after  you,  and 
desired  me  to  tender  you  her  love  and  bert 
wishes." 

lie  neither  started  nor  changed  color  at 
the  mention  of  Irene's  name,  but  sffaightened 
himself,  and  buttoned  to  the  throat  the  black 
coat,  which,  from  the  warmth  of  the  roam,  h« 
had  partially  loosened. 

"  Is  she  not  a  great  belle  ?" 

"  I  presume  few  women  have  been  more  ad- 
mired than  she  is.  I  hear  much  of  her  beauty, 
and  the  sensation  which  it  creates  wherever 
she  goes;  but  the  number  of  her  suitors  ia 
probably  bmited,  from  the  fact  that  it  is  gener- 
ally kno\vn  she  is  engaged  to  her  cousin,  young 
Seymour." 

"  I  can  not  believe  that  she  loves 'him." 

"Oh!  that  is  not  necessary  to  latter-day 
matrimonial  contracts;  it  is  an  obsolete  clause, 
not  essential  to  legality,  and  utterly  ignored. 
She  is  bound,  hand  and  foot,  and  her  father 
will  immolate  her  on  the  altar  of  money." 

He  smiled  bitterly,  and  crossed  his  arras 
over  his*  chest.     * 

"  You  mistake  her  character,  Russell.  I 
know  her  better,  and  I  tell  you  there  is  none 
of  the  Iphigenia  in  her  nature." 

''  At  least  I  tlo  not  mistake  her  father's,  and 
I  pity  the  .woman  whose  fate  rests  in  his  iron 
grasp." 

"  She  holds  hers  in  her  own  hands,  small 
rnd  white  though  they  are ;  and,  so  surely  as 
the  stars  shine  above  us,  she  will  marry  only 
where  she  loves.  She  has  all  the  will  which 
h;vs  rendered  the  name  of  her  family  prover- 
bial. I  have  her  here  in  crayons ;  tell  me  what 
you  think  of  the  likeness." 

Siie  took  down  a  portfolio  af»d  selected  the 
head  of  her  quondam  playmate,  holding  it 
under  the  gas-ligiit,  and  still  scrutinizing  her 
cousin's  countenance.  He  took  it,  and  looked 
gravely,  earnestly,  at  the  lovely  features. 

"  It  scarcely  does  her  iustice ;  I  doubt  wheth- 
er any  portrait  ever  will.  Beside,  the  expres- 
sion of  lier  face  has  changed  materially  since 
this  was  sketched.  There  is  a  harder  dutline 
now  about  her  mouth,  less  of  dreaminess  in 
the  eyes,  more  of  cold  hauteur  in  the  whole 
face.  '  If  you  desire  it,  I  can,  in  one  lino  of 
I'ennyson,  photograph  her  proud  beauty,  as  I 
saw  her  mounted  on  her  favorite  horse,  the 
week  that  I  letl  home  :" 

"  Faultily  fauItloM,  ioily  regular,  splendidly  null  1" 

lie  laid  the  drawing  back  in  the  opeh  port- 
folio, crossed  the  room,  and  took  up  his  hat. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  Russell  V  Can't  you 
spend  the  evening  with  me  at  aunt  Ruth's?"', 

"  No,  thank  you ;  I  must  go.  There  is  to  be 
a  great  political  meeting  at  Tammany  Hall  to- 
night, and  I  am  particularly  an.xious  to  attend." 

"  What!  are  you,  too,  engaged  in  watching 
the  fermentation  of  the  political  vat  ?" 

"  Yc»;  I  am  most  deeply  interested;  no  true 


MACARIA. 


97 


lover  of  his  country  can  fail  to  be  so  at  this 
juncture."  - 

"  IIow  long  will  you  be  in  New  York ?' 

"  Since  1  can  not  persuade  you  to  return 
■with  me,  my  stay  here  will  be  shortened.  One 
©f  our  courts  meets  soon,  and,  though  Mr. 
Campbell  will  be  there  to  attend  to  the  cases, 
1  want,  if  possible,  to  be  present.  1  shall  return 
day  alter  to-morrow.  And  now  good-night;  I 
will  see  you  early  in  the  morning." 

The  door  closed  behind  him,  and  she  remain- 
ed standing  lor  some  time  just  as  he  lett  her. 
Slowly  tiie  folded  hands  shrank  from  each 
other,  and  dropped  nerveless  to  her  side ;  the 
bright  glow  in  her  cheeks,  the  dash  of  crimson 
on  her  lips,  faded  from  both ;  the  whole  fa(;e 
relaxeil  into  an  expression  of  hopeless  agony. 
Lonely  as  JMoses  when  he  calmly  climbed  Nebo 
to  die,  she  bowed  herself  a  despairing  victim 
upon  the  grim,  flint-fronted  altar  ot  Necessity. 

Curiously  subtle  and  indomitable  is  woman's 
heart,  so  often  the  jest  of  the  llippant  and 
unthinking — the  sneer  of  the  unscrupulously 
calculating,  or  mercilessly  cynical.  It  bad  long 
been  no  secret  to  this  woman  that  she  occu- 
pied the  third  place  in  her  cousin's  allections — 
was  but  a  dweller  of  the  vestibule.  Her  pride 
had  been  tortured,  her  vanity  sorely,  wounded  ; 
yet,  to-night,  purified  troin  all  dross,  love  rose 
invincible,  triumphant,  from  the  cvucible  of 
long  and  severe  trial — sublime  in  its  isolation, 
asking,  expecting  no  return — 

"  Sslf-girded  with  torn  strips  of  bope." 

Such  is  the  love  of  a  true  woman.  God 
help  all  such,  in  this  degenerate  world  of  ours, 
80  cursed  with  shams  and  counterleits. 

liaising  her  tearless,  shadowy  eyes  to  the 
woeful  face  of  her  Cassandra,  Electra  extended 
her  arms,  and  murmured  : 

"  Alone  henceforth  I  a  pilgrim  in  foreign 
lands  !  a  solitary  worker  among  strangers.  So 
be  itl  1  am  strong  enough  to  work  aione.  So 
be  it !" 

The  (laming  sword  of  the  Angel  of  Destiny 
waved  her  Irom  the  Eden  of  her  girlish  day- 
dreams, and  by  its  fiery  gleam  she  read  the 
dim,  dun  futuire ;  saw  all — 

*'The  long  mechanic  pacing*  tn  ^nd  fro, 
XIm  Mt  gru;  life,  and  apatli«Uc  «nd." 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

"Don't  you  know  that  even  granite  mill- 
stones finally  grind  themselves  into  impalpable 
powder?     Vou  give  yourself  no  rest,  Aubrey, 
and  human  machinery  wears  rapidly." 
"  But  if  the  powder  ground  be  golden  ?" 
"  The  dust  is  but  dust  still,  despite  itji  glitter, 
and  fills  men's  eyes  and  dims  their  vision  like 
7 


an)'  other  dust ;  ending  of^on  in  a  moral  oph- 
thalmia past  cure. 

"  The  plague  of  Rold  strikes  far  and  near, 
And  deep  and  strong  it  outers. 
This  purple  chimar  which  we  M'ear, 

M«!ves  madder  than  tlie  c'litimr's; 
Onr  th-Miiflits  grow  blank,  our  words  grow  str.'xnge, 

We  cheer  the  piile  gold-diggers-, 
Each  soul  is  worth  so  nmoli  on  "Change, 
And  marked,  lilce  sheep,  with  figures. ' 

Bo  pitifnl,  OOod!" 

"  T  should  reallj'  dislike  to  think  that  you 
had  become  a  confirmed,  inveterate  chrysolo 
gist.  Take  time,  Aubrey  !  take  time ;  yon 
are  over-worked,  and  make  months  press  u{X>n 
your  brow  more  heavily  than  years  on  most 
men's.  After  all,  my  dear  fellow,  as  Emerson 
says,  'Politics  is  a  deleterious  profession,  like 
some  poisonous  handicrafts.'  I  sometimes  feel 
like  drawing  a  long  breath  for  you;  it  wearies 
me  to  look  at  you — you  are  such  a  concentrated 
extract  of  work !  work  !  Simply  for  this 
reason,  I  sent  for  you  to  come  and  take  a  cup 
of  tea  with  me." 

.  "I  have  been  too  much  engaged  of  late  to 
spare  an  evening  to  merely  social  claim's.  A 
man  whose  life  rests  at  his  feet,  to  be  lifted  t-o 
some  fitting  pedestal,  has  little  leisure  for  the 
luxury  of  friendly  visiting." 

The  two  were  in  Eric  Mitchell's  pleasant 
library.  Russell  sat  in  an  arm-chair,  and  this 
master  of  the  house  reclined  on  a  lounge 
drawn  near  the  hearth.  The  mellow  glow  of 
the  lamp,  the  flash  and  crackle  of  the  fire,  tho 
careless,  lazy  posture  of  the  invaliif,  alhbti- 
tokened  quiet  comfort,  save  the  dark  fixed 
face,  and  erect  restless  figure  of  the  guest. 

"But,  Aubrey,  a  man  who  has  already 
achieved  so  much  should  be  content  to  rest  a 
whihi,  and  move  more  slowly." 

"  That  depends  altogether  ou  the  nature  aiid 
distance  of  his  goal." 

"And  that  goal  is — what?" 

"Men  call  it  by  a  variety  of  names,  hoping 
to  escape  Lucifer's  fate  by  adroitly  cloaking 
Lucifer's  infirmity." 

"Yes;  and  whenever  I  look  at  you  toiling 
so  ceaselessly,  climbing  so  surely  to  eminence, 
1  am  forcibly  reminded  of  Macaulay's  fine  pas- 
sage on  the  hollowness  of  political  life  :  'A 
pursuit  from  which,  at  most,  they  can  only  ex- 
pect, by  relinquishing  liberal  studies  and 
social  pleasures,  by  passing  nights  without 
sleep  and  summers  without  one  glimpse  tjf 
the  beauty  of  n.ature,  they  may  attain  that  la- 
boriou.s,  that  inviiiious,  that  closely-watched 
slavery  which  is  mocked  with  the  name  of 
power.'  You  have  not  asked  my  opinioa  of 
your  speech." 

"  I  was  not  aware  that  you  heard  it." 

"  Of  course  not,  but  I  read  it ;  and,  let  me 
tell  you,  it  was  a  great  speech,  a  masterly  ar- 
gument, that  will  make  a  lasting  impression 
upon  the  people.  It  has  greatly  changed  the 
Totc  of  this  county  already." 

"  You  mistake  appearances;  the  seed  fell  iu 


9S 


MACARIA. 


good  soil,  but  party  spirit  came,  as  fowls  ol*  the 
air,  and  devoured  tliciu." 

''At  any  rate,  it  produced  a  profound  ira- 
p.cssion  on  public  ojunion,  and  ilartled  some 
Oi  our  political  patriarchs." 

"No,  a  mere  transitory  eflcct;  tliey  have 
folded  their  amis  and  gone  to  sleep  again.  I 
a:u,  of  course,  gratified  by  your  favorable  ap- 
preciation of  my  elfort,  b.'it'l  tlitlcr  with  you 
as  to  its  result.  TIk^  plough -share  of  naked 
truth  must  thoroughly  sub-.soil  the  mind  of  the 
Southern  states  before  the  future  of  the  coun- 
l.-y  is  realized  in'  any  degree;  as  yet.  the 
surface  lias  been  but  slightly  grazud.  The 
hydra-headed  foe  of  democracy  is  slowly  but 
certainly  coiling  around  our  American  eagle, 
and  will  crush  it,  if  not  seared  promptly.  But, 
Mr.  Mit«hell,  the  'llaming  brands'  are  not 
rccwly." 

*'  To  what  hydra  do  you  allude  ?" 

"  Dema"'ogism,  of  course.  Clcon  was  the 
prototype  of  a  numerous  class;  the  school  is 
flourishing  vigorously  at  t!ie  North,  and  no 
longer  a  stranger  hcie.  The  people  must  root 
it  out  speedily,  or  the  days  of  our  national 
existerice  are  numbered." 

"  History  proves  it  an  invariable  concomi- 
tant of  (leniixraoy  ;  rather  a  rank  olT-shoot 
from  than  antai:oiiistie  to  it." 

"  You  confound  the  use  and  abuse  of  a  sys- 
tem. Civilization  is,  indisputably,  a  blessing  to 
our  race,  yet  an  abuse  of  tiie  very  imprdve- 
meiits  and  discoveries  that  constitute  its  glory, 
entails  incalculable  sorrow,  and  swells  criminal 
Btalistics.  Tiie  inarch  of  medical  science  has 
induceil  the  administering  of  deadly  poisons 
with  tlie  h^jipiest  results,  when  skilluUy  di- 
rected; yet  it  sometimes  happens  that  fatal 
effects  follow  an  over-dose.  Powerful  politi- 
cal levers  should  be  handled  judiciou.sly — not 
thrown  into  the  clutches  of  ignorant  empirics." 

"  Universal  sudragc  is  not  your  holjjby, 
then  V" 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  hold,  with  one  of  the 
most  brilliant  statesmen  this  country  over  pro- 
duced, that  '  it'  is  the  (ireek  horse  introduced 
into  the  citadel  of  American  liberties  and  sov- 
ereignty. '  " 

"  On  my  honor,  T  am  astounded  at  hearing 
you  (juote  and  eutlorse  a  tliclum  of  Hamilton. 
The  milleunium  can't  be  far  oil",  when  Demo- 
crats seek  illustration  from  Federalism  !" 

"  liigotry  in  politics  is  as  indefensible  as  in 
religion  or  science.  Truth  is  a  sworn  foe  to 
monopolists;  is  the  exclusive  right  of  no  one 
organization  or  party  that  ever  wa.xed  and 
•  waned.  J  ara  a  deinocr,it ;  I  believe  'u\  liberal, 
enlarged,  but  not  universal  suffrage ;  it  is  a 
precious  boon,  and  should  b«!  hedged  about 
with  cautious  restrictions.  The  creation  of 
the  ephori  was  a  sort  of  compromise  measure, 
a  concession  to  .ijjpease  the  people  of  Sparta, 
and,  as  an  e-vtcnsion  of  the  elective  franchise, 
was  most  deplorable  in  its  results.  Universal 
suffrage  always  recalls  to  my  mind  the  pithy 


criticism  of  Anacharsis,  the  Scythian  philoso- 
pher, on  the  Soloiiian  cotle,  which  lodged  too 
much  power  in  the  hands  of  the  people : 
'  Wise  men  debate,  but  fools  decide.'  Mr. 
Mitchell,  it  matters  little  whether  we  have 
fue  or  one  hundred  million  tyrants,  if  our 
rights  are  trampled ;  it  is  a  mere  (juestion  of 
t;l^le  whether  you  call  the  despot  Czar,  Dic- 
tator, or  Ballot-box.  The  mas.ses  are  .electri- 
cal, and  valuable  prinii[)le8  of  government 
should  be  kept  beyond  the  reach  of  e.\plo- 
sion." 

"And,  except  in  a  powerful  centralization, 
where  could  you  pl.ace  them  for  safety  V" 

"  They  are  already  deposited  in  the  consti- 
tution. 1  would,  in  order  to  secure  them,  ex- 
tend our  naturalization  laws  so  as  to  restrict 
the  foreign  vote,  limit  the  riuht  of  suffrage  by 
affixing  a  property  (pialificati<Mi,  make  the  ten- 
ure of  our  judiciary  oflices  for  life  or  good 
behavior,  and  lengthen  the  term  of  ailmiiiis- 
traliou  of  our  chief"  magistrate,  thereby  dimin- 
ishing the  fre<iuency  of  po[)ular  elections, 
which,  in  oflering  jiremiums  tor  deinagogisiu, 
has  been  a  prolilio  cayse  of  mischief.  In  e.x- 
anuning  the  statistii's  of  the  Northern  and 
Western  states  rtjcently,  and  noting  the  dan- 
gerous results  of  the  crude  foreign  vote,  1  was 
forcibly  reminded  of  a  passage  in  Burke's 
'  llellections  on  the  French  Revolution:' 
'Those  who  attempt  to  level,  never  equalize. 
In  all  societies,  (.onsistin'g  of  various  descrip- 
tions of  citizens,  some  descrij)tion  uuist  be 
uppermost.  The,  leveller.s,  therefore,  only 
change  and  pervert  the  natural  order  of 
things;  they  load  the  erlifice  of  ."(ociety  by  set- 
ting up  in  the  air  what  the  solidity  of  the 
structure  reipiires  to  be  on  the  ground.'  The 
day  is  not  far  distant,  I  fear,  when  Furopean 
paupers,  utterly  ignorant  of  our  institutions, 
will  delennine  who  shall  sit  in  the  ])residen- 
tial  chair,  an<l  how  far  the  constitution  shall 
be  observed.  These  are  grave  truths,  which 
the  enlightened  body  of  the  American  people 
should  jionder  well;  but,  instead,  they  are 
.made  mere  catch -words  for  party  purposes, 
and  serve  only  to  induce  a  new  scramble  for 
office.  It  rc(juires  no  extraordinary  prescience 
to  predict  that  the  great  fundamental  princi- 
|)les  of  this  government  will  soon  become  a 
simple  question  of  arithmetic — will  .lie  at  the 
merry  of  an  unscrupulous  majority.  The 
.surging  waves  of  Northern  faction  and  fanati- 
cism already  break  ominously  against  our  time- 
honored  constitutional  dykes,  and  if  the  South 
would  strengthen  her  bulwarks  there  is  no 
time  to  be  «lept  or  wrangled  away." 

As  he  spoke,  Ilussell's  eyes  fell  upon  a  large 
oval  vase  on  the  mantle-piece  filled  with  rare 
c^iotica,  whose  graceful  tendrils  were  tastefully 
disposed  into  a  perfumed  fringe.  Rising,  he 
looked  carefully  at  the  brilliant  hues,  and  said, 
as  he  bent  to  inhale  their  fragrance: 

"  Where  do  you  g*H(w  such  flowers  at  this 
season  ?" 


Macaria. 


90 


"  Irene  brings  them  almost  every  day  from 
the  green-house  on  the  hill.  She  takes  a  pe- 
culiar pleasure  in  arranging  them  in  my  vases. 
I  think  she  stood  a  haft-hour  yesterday  twin- 
ing and  bending  those  stems  the  way  she 
wanted  tiiem  to  hang.  They  are  so  brittle 
that  I  snap  the  blossoms  off,  but  in  her  hands 
they  seem  pliable  enough." 

Russell  withdrew  the  fingers  which  had 
wandered  caressingly  amid  the  delicate  leaves, 
and;  reseating  himself,  took  a  book  from  his 
pocket. 

"  Mr.  Mitchell,  I  dare  say  you  recollect  a  | 
discussiou  which  we  had,  some  months  ago,  re-  j 
garding  the  Homeric  unity  question  ?  Since 
that  tiuie  I  have  been  looking  into  Payne 
Knight's  views  on  the  subject,  and  am  ~morc 
than  ever  convinced  that  the  German  theory 
is  incorrect.  I  will  read  a  porfion  oi'  his  argu- 
ment, and  leave  the  book  lor  you  to  examine 
at  your  leisure." 

"By  all  means!  But  I  thought  yOur  red- 
tape  gyves  kept  you  from  arclipcologie  re- 
searches'.''" 

"It  is  true  they  do  bind  me  tighter  than  I 
sometimes  i-elish ;  but  we  are  all  in  bondage, 
more  or  less,  and,  since  one  must  submit  to 
tyranny,  1  prefer  a  stern  master."  lie  drew 
his  chair  nearer  the  lamp,  ami  began  to  read 
aloud.  Nearly  a  halt-hour  passed  tlius,  when 
the  library  door  was  opened  hastily,  and  Irene 
came  in,  dressed  magnificently  in  party  cos- 
tume. She  stood  a  moment,  irresolute  and 
surprised,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  Russell's, 
then  both  bowed  silently,  and  she  came  to  the 
fire. 

"  How  are  you,  uncle  Eric  ?  You  look 
flushed,  feverish."  She  laid  her  cold  pearly 
hand  on  his  forehead,  and  stood  at  his  side. 

"  Tolerably  comfortable,  thanks  to  Mr.  Au- 
brey, who  has  m,ad(',  me  almost  forget  my 
headache.  You  will  be  fashionably  late  at  the 
party  to-night." 

"  Yes !  as  usual ;  but  for  a  better  reason  than 
because  1  wish  to  be  fasiiionable.  I  wanted 
to  know  how  you  were,  and,  as  father  was  not 
quite  ready,  I  came  in  advance,  and  sent  the 
carriage  l)ack  for  him  and  Hugh.  I  was  not 
aware  that  you  Avere  in  Mr.  Aubrey's  hands 
for  the  evening.  You  were  reading,  I  believe; 
pardon  my  intrusion,  and  do  not  let  me  inter- 
rupt you." 

"  Sit  down,  Irene;  here,  child,  where  I  can 
look  at  you.  We  can  both  bear  such  an  in- 
tcrrnpiion." 

Russ<'ll  closed  the  volume,  but  kept  his 
finger  in  the  Icares,  an<l  his  fascinated  eyes 
went  hack  to  the  face  and  form  of  the  heiress. 
The  dress  was  of  heavy  blue  !<ilk,  with  an 
orer-skirt  and  bertha  of  rich  white  lace,  looped 
with  bunches  of  violets  and  geranium  leaves. 
The  rippling  hair  was  drawn  smoothly  over 
the  pure  brow,  and  coiled  at  the  back  of  the 
head  under  a  bine  and  silver  netting,  from 
which  fuchsias  of  turquoise   and  pearl  hung 


low  on '  the  polished  neck.  The  arms  and 
shoulders  gleamed  like  ivory  as  the  lamp-light 
glowed  over  her;  and,  save  the  firm,  delicate 
crim.«on  lips,  there  was  no  stain  of  color  in  the 
cold  but  superbly  beautiful  face.  It  was  the 
first  time  they  had  met  since  that  evening  at 
the  cemetery,  many  months  before.  Lifting 
her  splendid  violet  eyes,  she  met  his  gaze  an 
instant,  and,  tapping  the  book,  Russell  asked, 
with  (piiet  nonchalance  : 

"  Where  do  you  stand.  Miss  Huntingdon,  in 
this  ve.\ed  Wolfian  controversy  con<'t!rning 
the  authorship  of  the  Iliad  and  Odyssey  V" 

"  I  would  render  unto  Cajsar  the  things 
that  are  Caesar's." 

"  Equivocal,  of  course ! — a  woman's  answer," 
lauglieit  her  uncle. 

"  Explicitly,  then,  I  believe  that,  as  Scott 

absorbed  the  crude  minstrelsy  of  Si'otland,  and 

reproduced  national  songs  and  legends  under 

a  fairer,  sweeter  form,  so  Homer,  grand  old 

blind     eclectic,     gathered    the     fragmentary 

I  myths  of  heroic  ages,  and,  clothing  them  with 

I  the  melody  of  wandering  Greek  rhapsodists, 

I  gave  to  the  world  his  wonderl'td  epic — the  first 

and  last  specimen  of  composite  poetic  archi- 

;  tecture." 

"  You  ascribe  the  Odyssey,  then,  to  a  dificr- 
I  ent  author  and  a  later  period  V"  aeked  Mr. 
1  Mitchell. 

i  "  I  am  too  little  versed  in  philology  to  de- 
!  termine  so  grave  a  question.  My  acquaintance 
'  with  Greek  is  limited,  and  I  am  not  compe- 
tent to  the  task  of  considering  all  the  evidence 
]  in  favor  of  the  identity  of  authorship." 

She  put  on  her  white  cashmere  cloak,  and 
stood  still  a  moment,  listening. 

"  Good-night,  uncle  Eric  ;  the  carriage  is 
coming.  I  believe  I  should  know  the  tramp 
of  those  horses  amid  a  regiment  of  cavalry." 

"  Why  neecl  you  hurry  olV?  Let  your  father 
come  in." 

"  I  will  spare  him  that  trouble.  Good- 
night, Mr.  Aubrey. ' 

She  turned  to  leave  the  room,  but,  in  gath- 
ering her  cloak  around  her,  dropped  her  fan. 
Russell  stooped  to  pick  it  up,  and,  as  he  re- 
stored it,  there  hands  met.  His  brow  flushed, 
but  not  even  the  pale  pearly  glow  of  a  sea- 
shell  crept  to  her  cheek.  Again  she  raised 
her  eyes  to  his,  and  a  haughty,  dazzling  smile 
flashed  over  her  face  as  she  inclined  her  bead. 
*'  Thank  you,  sir." 

There  was  a  brief  silence,  broken  by  Eric, 
when  the  sound  of  the  carriage  had  died 
away. 

"  Irene  is  the  only  perfectly  beautiful  wom- 
I  an  I  ever  saw;  and  yet,  Aubrey,  it  makes  mo 
sad  to  watch  her  countenance!." 
I  '•  Whe^ievcr  I  see  her  1  can  not  avoid 
I  recalling  an  old  Scandinavian  myth,  she 
I  realizes  so  fully  my  ideal  Mnna,  standing  at 
the  portals  of  Valhalla,  ofli'ering  apples  ol  ir^jr 
, mortality." 
I      He  returned  at  once  to  his  book  and  read 


100 


MACAIUA. 


several  pages,  occasionally  pausinjr  to  call 
attention  to  some  jpecial  passage  ;  finally  he 
rose,  and  took  his  hat. 

"  It  is  early  yet,  Aubrey  ;   don't  po." 

''  Thank  you  ;  I  must  fulfill  another  engage- 
ment." 

"  A  "word  before  you  leave;  will  you  be  a 
candiilate  for  the  le^jislature  '!" 

"  Yes  ;  I  was  waited  upon  by  a  committee 
to-day,  and  my  name  will  be  Announced  to- 
morrow.    Good-nrjrht." 

Slowly  he  walked  back  to  town,  and,  once 
upon  the  main  street,  took  a  new  pair  of  gloves 
from  his  pokct,  fitted  them  carefully,  and 
directed  his  steps  to  the  ele;rant  residence, 
whose  approach  was  -well  niixli  blocked  up 
with  cairiaires.  This  was  the  second  time 
that  he  had  been  invited  by  the  Hendersons, 
and  he  had  almost  determined  to  decline  as 
formerly,  but  something  in  Irene's  chill  man- 
ner changed  his  resolution.  He  knew,  from 
various  circumstances,  that  the  social  edict 
against  him  was  being  Revoked  in  fashionable 
circles  ;  that  because  he  had  risen  without  its 
permission,  aid,  or  countenance,  and  in  defiance 
of  its  sneers,  the  world  was  beginning  to  court 
him.  A  gloomy  scowl  .sat  on  his  stern  lips  as 
he  mounted  the  steps  of  the  mansion  from 
which  his  meek  and  suflering  mother  had 
bortu!  bundles  of  plain  work,  or  delicate  masses 
of  enjbroidery,  for  the  mother  and  daughter 
who  j)assed  her  in  the  street  with  a  supercilious 
stare.  Beau-m<inde  suddenly  awoke  to  the 
recollection  that,  "after  all,  Mrs.  Aubrey  be- 
longed to  one  of  the  wealthiest  and  first 
families  in  the  state."  At  first  Russell  had 
proudly  repelled  all  overtures,  but  grailually 
he  was  possessed  by  a  desire  to  rule  in  the 
Very  circle  which  had  so  long  excluded  his 
family.  Most  fully  he  appreciated  his  position 
and   the  motives    wliich    actuated    the   social 

autocrats  of  W ;  he  was  no  longer  the 

poor  disgraced  clerk,  but  the  talented  young 
lawyer,  and  prospective  heirof  I\Ir.  Campbell's 
wealth.  Bitterly,  bitterly  came  memories  of 
early  trial,  and  now  the  haughtiness  of  Irene's 
manner  stung  him  as  nothing  else  could  pos- 
Hibly  have  done.  He  was  at  a  loss  to  compre- 
hen<l  this  change  in  one  who  had  dared  so 
much  in  order  to  assist  his  family,  and  proud 
<lefiance  arose  in  his  heart.  It  was  ten  o'clock ; 
the  ftte  was  at  its  height;  the  sound  of  music, 
the  shimmer  of  jewels,  and  rustle  of  costly 
filks  mingled  with  the  hum  of  conver.sation 
and  the  tread  of  dancing  feet  as  Russell  de- 
posited hat  and  over-coat  in  the  dressing-room 
and  entered  the  blazing  ])arlora.  The  qua- 
drille had  just  ended,  and  gay  groups  chattered 
in  the  centre  of  the  room  ;  among  these,  Maria 
Henderson,  leaning  on  Hugh's  aruj,  and  (Jrace 
'Harris,  who  had  been  dancing  with  Louis 
nenders<m.  As  Russell  crossed  the  floor  to 
speak  to  the  host  and  hostess  all  eyes  turned 
upon  him,  and  a  suddeaiiush  fell  on  the  merry 
dancers. 


"  Coaxed  at  last  within  the  pale  of  civiliza- 
tion !  how  did  you  contrive  it,  Louis?"  asked 
Maria. 

"Oh  !  he  declined  when  I  invited  him;  but 
I  believe  father  saw  him  afterward  and  renewed 
the  r«'(juest.  Do  observe  him  talking  to  moth- 
er ;  he  is  as  polished  as  if  he  had  spent  bil  lilii 
at  court." 

"He  is  a  man  whom  I  never  fancied;  but 
that  two  hours  speech  of  his  was  certainly  th« 
finest  etlbrt  .1  ever  listened  to.  Caesar's  am- 
bition was  moderate  in  compari>on  with 
Aubrey's;  and,  somehow,  even  against  mj 
will,  I  can't  help  admiring  him,  he  is  so  coolly 
independent,"  said  Hugh,  eyeing  hiui  curi- 
ously. 

"  1  heard  father  say  that  the  Democrats  in- 
tend to  send  him  to  the  legislature  next  term, 
and  the  oi)j)osition  are  botliered  to  match  him 
fully.  By  the  way,  they  speak  of  Mr.  Hun- 
tingdon for  their  candidate.  But  here  comes 
your  hero.  Miss  Maria."'  As  he  spoke,  Charlie 
Harris  drew  back  a  few  steps,  and  sutlered 
Russell  to  speak  to  the  young  lady  of  th« 
house.  Irene  stood  not  far  off,  talking  to  tha 
Governor  of  the  state,  who  chanced  to  be  on 

a  brief  visit  to  W ,  and  (juite  near  her 

Judge  Harris  and  her  father  were  in  tarnest 
conversation.  Astonished  at  the  sudden  ap- 
parition, her  eyes  followed  him  as  he  bowed 
to  the  members  ot  the  central  group  ;  and,  as 
she  heard  the  deep  rich  voice  above  the  buzz  of 
small  talk,  she  w,uted  to  see  if  he  would  notice 

her.     Soon  Governor  G gave  her  his  arm 

for  a  promenade,  and  she  found  herself,  era 
long,  very  near  Maria,  who  was  approaching 
with  Russell.  He  was  saying  something,  at- 
whieh  she  laughed  delightedly  ;  just  then  hia 
eye  fell  on  Irene;  there  was  no  token  of  re- 
cognition on  the  part  of  either;  but  the  Gov- 
ernor, in  passing,  put  out  his  hand  to  shako 
Russell's,  and  asked  for  Mr.  Campbell.  Again 
iMul  again  I  hey  met  during  the  ensuing  hour, 
but  no  greeting  was  exchanged  ;  then  he  di»- 
apjjcared.  As  Irene  leaned  against  the  win- 
dow-lrame  in  the  crowded  supper-room  she 
heard  Charlie  Harris  gaily  bantering  Maria  on 
the  events  of"  the  evening. 

"  What  have  you  done  with  Aubrey  ?  I 
will  chalhnge  him  before  to-morrow  morning 
fur  cutting  me  out  of  uij  schott  ache  with  hif, 
prosy  chat." 

"  Oh  1  he  left  a  half-hour  ago  ;  excused 
himself  to  mother,  on  the  plea  of  starting  off  to 
court  at  daybreak.  He  is  perfectly  fascinat- 
ing; don't  you  think  so,  Grace?  Such  eyes 
and  lips  1  and  such  a  forehead  1" 

"  Don't  appeal  to  me  for  corroboration,  I 
beg  of  you,  Maria,  for  you  really  gave  nobody 
else  aa  opportunity  of  judging.  Take  a 
friendly  hint,  and  do  not  betray  your  admira- 
tion so  publicly,"  answered  the  friend,  pouting 
her  pretty  childish  lip. 

"  1  see  clearly  that  the  remainder  of  us  may 
a«  well  go  hang  ourselves  at  once  for  any  fu- 


MACARIA. 


101 


tnre  favor  we  can  expect,  since  My  Lord 
Aubrey  condescends  to  enter  the,  lists.  IV|iss 
Irene,  1  have  not  heard  you  rhapsodizing  yet 
about  the  new  sensation." 

"I  rarely  rhapsodize  about  anythiiisj,  sir." 

"  To  whom  does  be  allude,"  asked  Governor 
G ,  good-humoredly." 

"  To  Mr.  Aubrey,  who  is  no  stran p:er  to  you, 
I  believe." 

•'  Ah !  Campbell's  partner.  I  have  had 
some  correspondence'  with  him  recently,  and 
when  I  met  him  at  his  office  yestei-day  I  was 
no  longer  surprised  at  the  tone  of  his  letters. 
His  intellect  is  one  of  the  keenest  in  the  state  ; 
his  logical  and  analytical  powers  are  of  the 
rarest  order.  I  shall  watch  his  career  wifli 
great  interest.  Campbell  may  justly  be  proud 
of  him/' 

If  she  had  felt  any  inclination  to  reply,  the 
expression  of  her  father's  face  discouraged  her. 
He  had  joined  them  in  time  to  hear  the  tJbv- 
ernor's  eulogium,  and  she  saw  a  sneer  distort 
his  features  as  he  listened.  During  the  drive 
homeward,  Mr.  Huntingdon  suddenly  inter- 
rupted a  strain  of  Hugh's  nonsense  'by  ex- 
claiming : 

"  People  have  certainly  lost  common-sense  ! 
Their  memory  is  not  as  long  as  my  little 
finger." 

"  What  is  the  matter,  sir  ?  With  what  re- 
•cnt  proof  of  imbecility  have  they  favored 
you  ?" 

"  The  idea  of  that  upstart  wheedling  this 
•ommunity  is  utterly  preposterous.  His  im- 
pudence is  absolutely  astounding.  I  am  as- 
tonished that  Henderson  should  give  him 
eountenance  !" 

"The  world  has  strange  criteria  to  deter- 
mine its  verdicts.  His  father  was  sentenced 
to  be  hung  for  committing  murder ;  and  mv 
uncle,  Clement  Huntingdon,  who  deliberately 
shot  a  man  dead  in  a  duel,  was  received  in 
social  circles  as  coi-dially  as  if  his  hands  were 
rot  blood-stained.  There  was  more  of  pallia- 
tion in  the  first  case  (one  of  man-slaughter), 
for  it  was  the  hasty,  accidental  work  of  a 
moment  of  passion ;  in  the  last  a  cool,  pre- 
meditated taking  of  human  lifti.  But  the 
sensitive,  fastidious  world  called  one  brutal 
and  disgraceful,  and  the  other  'honorable 
eatisfaction,'  in  whieh  gentlemen  could  indulge 
•with  impunity  by  crossing  state  lines.  (J  lem- 
pora  !  O  mores  .'" 

As  Irene  uttered  these  words,  she  invol- 
untarily erushed  her  bouquet  and  threw  it 
from  her,  while  Hugh  cxpcetiid'  an  exj)loKion 
of  wrath  on  the  part  of  his  uncle.  He  merely 
muttered  an  oath,  however,  and  smokiMl  his 
cigar  in  sullen  silence,  leaving  the  cpusins  to 
discuss  the  events  of  the  party  during  the  re- 
mainder of  the  ride. 

Ome  more^  in  his  own  room,  at  the  quiet 
boarding-house,  Kus,«ell  lighted  the  gas-burner 
over  a  small  disk,  and  sat  down  to  a  ma-ss  of 
papers.    The  apartment  was  cold ;  the  fire  had 


long  since  died  out ;  the  heartli  looked  ashy  and 
desolate.    There  was  nothing  home-like  or  cosy 
in  the  aspect  of  the  room;  tlie  man  lived  at 
his  ofiice,  and  this  was  but  a  place  to  pass  the 
bri(^f  unconscious  hours  of  sleep.     He  had  no 
home-life,  no  social  existence  ;  was  fast  becom- 
ing callous,  impervious  to  the  gentler  emotions 
and   kindly   sympathies   which    domestic    ties 
foster  and  develop.     No  womanly  touch  lell 
pleasant  traces  here,  as  in  Eric's   home ;  no 
graceful,  luxurious   trifles  met   the    eye ;    all 
things  were  cold  and  prim  and  formal.     He 
had  no  kiiidred  and  few  friends,  but  unbound- 
ed aspiration   stood  in   lieu  of  both.     Fortu- 
nately   tor    him,  his   great   ph3'sica!  strength 
enabled  him  to  pursue  a  course  of  study  which 
men  of  feebler  constitution  could  never  have 
endured.     On  the  desk  lay  several  volumes, 
carefull}'    annotated    for    future    reference — 
Ilicardo,  Malthas,  iSa_y,  and  .Smith.     To  these 
he  turned,  and  busied  himself  in  transferring 
such  excerpts  as  suited  his  purpose  to  an  un- 
finished MS.  designed   for  future   legislntive 
service.     The  brilliant  smile  which  lighted  his 
face  an  hour  before,  imparting  an  irresistible 
charm,  had  wholly  faded,  leaving  the  features 
to  their  wonted  grave  immobility — the  accus- 
tomed non-committalism  of  the  business  man  6f 
the  world.     The  measured  tones  of  the  watch- 
man on  the  town-tower  recalled  him,  finally, 
from  the  cold  realm  of  political  economy  ;  he 
closed    the    books,  took   of!"  his   watch,    and 
wound  it  up.     It  Avanted  but  three  hours  to 
dawn  ;  but  he  heeded  it  not;  the  sight  of  the 
massive  old  watch  brought  vividly  back  the 
boyish  days  of  sorrow,  and  he  sat  tliinking  of 
that  niorniu^r  of  shame,  when  Irene  canu'  close 
to  him,  nestling  her  soft  little  hand  in  his,  and 
from  some  long-silent,  dark,  chill  chamber  of 
memory  leajied  sweet,  silvery,  childish  echoes: 
"  Oil,  Russell !  if  I  could  only  help  you !" 
With  an   involuntary   sigh   he  arose,   and, 
walking  to  the  chimney,  leaned  bis  elbow  on 
tiie- mantle.    'But  it  would  not  answer;   the 
faint,  delicious  perfume  of  violets  seemed  to 
steal  up  from  the  gray  ashes  on  the  hearth, 
and  the  passionless,  peerles3-4'ace  of  a  queenly 
woman  followed  him  from  the  haunts  of  lash- 
ion.     The  golden-haired   dream  of  his  early 
youth  had  lost  none  of  her  former  witeliery; 
she   only   shared    the    mastery  of   his    heart 
with  stern,  unrelaxing  ambition,  and  the  gtdf 
which  divided  them  only  enhanced  the, depth, 
the   holiness  of  his   love   for   her.     Since   hi« 
ret\irn  from  Europe  he  had  accustomed  him- 
self to  think  of  her  as  Hugh's  wife  ;  but  he 
found  it  daily  more  difficult   to  realize   that 
she  could  willingly  give  her  hand  to  her  heed- 
less, self-indulgi-nt  cousin  ;  and  now  the  alter- 
ation in  her  manner   toward   him   perplexed 
and  grieved  him.     Did  she  suspect  the  truth, 
and  fear  that  he  might  presume  on  her  charity, 
in  by- gone  years'/     To  his  proud  spirit  this 
was  a  sufiirestion  singularly  insulting,  and  he 
had   resolved  to  show  her  in   future   that  he 


102 


MACARIA. 


claimed  not  even  a  nod  of  recojrnition.  In- 
«li*ad  of  avoiding  Ikt  aa  formorly,  he  would 
■eek  occasions  to  (.xliibit  an  indifTiTencc  whioh 
lie  little  thought  that  her  womanly  heart  would 
ri^rlitly  interpret.  He  h;wl  found  it  more  dif- 
ficult than  he.  supj>6sed,  to  keep  his  att<.-ntion 
e'laineil  to  Maria  s  and  Grace's  ^ay  nonsense  ; 
to  prevent  his  oyes  from  wan<krin^  to  the  face 
whose  ima;:e  was  enshrined  in  his  lonely  heart; 
and  now,  witii  loniplex  ft'eliii;:s  of  tend'jrness 
and  an-jry  defiancf,  he  sougiit  his  jiillow  for  a 
short  rf.s[)ito  beforO  the.  journey  that  waited 
but  for  daylijrht. 

F(ir  a  low  weeks  all  W was  astir  with 

interest  in  the  imj)etiding  election  ;  newspaper 
eoluMins  teemed  with  caustic  articles,  and 
Ilunlinjiflou  and  Aubrey  clubs  vilified  each 
other  with  the  usual  acrimony  of  such  occa- 
sious.  Mr.  Campbell's  influence  was  extensive, 
but  the  IIuntin;;don  supporters  wpre  power- 
ful, and  the  i-esult  seemed  doubtful  tintil  the 
week  previous  to  tiie  election,  wiien  Russell, 
wlio  had  as  yet  taken  noai.-tive  part,  ac<'epted 
tSe  challenjre  of  his  o])ponent  to  a  public  dis- 
cussion. The  meetin;i  was  held  in  front  of 
the  court-house,  the  massive  stone  steps  scrv- 
iufj  as  a  temporary  rostrum.  The  night  was 
dark  and  cloudy,  but  hujxe  bonfires,  blazinjij 
barrels  of  pitch,  threw  a  lurid  glare  over  the 
broad  Rlreet,  now  conVerted  into  a  surging  sea 
of  human  hea<ls. 

Surrounded  by  a  committee  of  select  friends, 
Mr.  Hunlingdou  sat,  confident  of  success;  and 
whin  the  hiss  of  rockets  ceased,  he  came  for- 
ward and  adiiressed  the  assembly  in  an  hour's 
bpeech.  As  a  warm  and  rather  prominent 
politician,  he  was  habituated  to  the  task,  and 
bursts  of  ajiplause  from  his  own  party  fre- 
(juently  attested  the  elfuct  of  his  easy,  grace- 
ful style,  and  punirent  irony.  Blinded  by 
j)ersotial  hat:-,  and  liunied  on  by  the  excite- 
ment of  the  iiour,  he  neglected  the  cautious 
policy  wiiich  had  hitherto  been  observed,  and 
finally  laun<lit;<l  into  a  fierce  philippic  against 
l.is  antagonist — holding  up  for  derision  the 
uieiancholy  fate  of  his  father,  ami  sneeringly 
•ienouncing  the  "  audacious  pretensions  of  a 
jiolitical  neophyte. ' 

(iroans  and  hisses  greeted  this  unexpected 
peroration,  and  many  of  his  own  friends  bit 
tli'-ir  lips,  and  l)ent  their  brows  in  angry  sur- 
jirise,  as  he  took  his  seat  amid  an  uproar 
which  would  have  been  resjiectable  even  in 
the  days  of  the  builders  of  I{al)el.  Russell 
was  sitting  on  tlu^  upper  step,  with  his  head 
leaning  on  his  hand,  and  his  eyes  fixeil  on  the 
mass  ol"  u[i-turned,  eager  faces,  iisU-ning  pati- 
ently to  the  lengthy  a(ldi\!SS,  expecting  just 
what  he  was  destined  to  hear.  At  the  men- 
tion of  his  family  mislbrtunes  lie  lifted  his 
head,  rose,  and,  advancing  a  few  steps,  took  off 
his  hat,  and  .stood  confronting  the  speaker  in 
full  view  of  the  excited  crowd.  And  there 
the  red  light,  flaring  over  bis  features,  showed 


a  calm,  stern,  self-reliant  man,  who  felt  that 
he  had  nothing  to  blush  for  in  the  past  or  to 
dread  in  future.  When  the  tirade  ended, 
when  the  tumult  ceased  and  silence  fi'll  upon 
the  audience,  he  turned  and  fixed  his  deep, 
glowing  eyes  full  on  the  face  of  his  opponent 
for  one  moment,  smiling  haughtily;  then,  as 
Mr.  Huntingdon  quailed  before  his  withering 
gaze,  he  crossed  his  arms  over  his  chest,  ana 
addressed  the  meeting. 

He  came,  he  said,  to  discus?  quesUons  of 
grave  import  to  the  state,  not  the  pedigree  or 
antecedents  of  his  antagonist,  with  which,  he 
supposed,  the  public  had  no  concern.  He 
could  not  condescend  to  the  level  of  the  gen- 
tleman ;  was  not  a  proficient,  not  his  ecjual  in 
slang  phrases,  or  gross,  vulgar  vituperation, 
an<l  scorned  to  farther  insult  the  good  taste  of 
his  hearers  by  acquainting  them  with  the  con- 
temptible motives  of  individual  hatred  which 
had  induced  his  opponent  to  tbrget  what  the 
rules  of  good  breeding  and  etiquette  impi-ra- 
tively  demanded.  He  would  not  continue  to 
disgrace  the  occasion  by  any  refutation  of  the 
exceedingly  irrelevant  portion  of  the  preced- 
ing harangue,  which  related  to  purely  personal 
nmtters,  and  was  unworthy  of  notice,  but 
asked  the  attention  of  his  hearers,  for  a  few 
moments,  while  he  analyzed  the  ])Iatl'orm  of 
his  jiarty.  Briefly  he  stated  the  is.sucs  divid- 
ing the  i)eople  of  the  state;  warned  the  oppo- 
sition of  the  probable  results  of  thrir  policy, 
if  triumphant;  ami,  with  resistless  elo(pience, 
pleaded  for  a  firm  maintenance  of  the  princi- 
ples of  his  own  party.  He  was,  he  averred, 
no  alarmist,  but  he  proclaimed  that  the  people 
slept  upon  the  thin  heaving  crust  of  a  volcano, 
which  would  inevitably  soon  burst  forth;  and 
the  period  was  raj)idly  a])proaching  when  the 
Southern  states,  unless  united  and  on  the 
alert,  would  lie  bound  at  the  feet  of  an  inso- 
lent and  raj)aciuns  Northern  faction.  He  de- 
mainied  that,  tftrough  the  legislatures,  the 
states  should  api)eal  to  Congress  for  certain 
restrictions  and  guarantees,  which,  if  denied, 
would  justify  extreme  measures  on  tiie  ])art  of 
the  people.  The  man's  marvellous  magnetism 
was  never  more  triiunphanily  attested;  the 
mass,  who  had  listened  in  pro(()und  silence  to 
every  syllable  which  ])asse(l  his  lips,  now  vent- 
ed their  entiiusiasm  in  prolonged  and  vocifer- 
ous a])plausc,  and  vehement  cries  of  "  (Jo  on! 
go  on  I"  The  entire  absence  of  stereotyped 
rliodomontadf!  rendered  his  words  peculiarly 
impressive,  as  he  gave  them  utterance  with  no 
visible  token  of  enthusiasm.  He  did  not  lash 
the  pa>;sions  of  the  populace  into  a  passing 
phrensy,  but  eO'ectually  stirred  the  great  deep 
of  sober  feeling  and  sound  sense.  With  his 
elegant,  graxieful  delivery,  and  polished,  spark- 
ling diction,  he  stood,  as  it  were,  on  some  lofty 
oool  pedestal,  and  pointed  ui\erringly  to  com- 
ing events,  whose  shadows  had  not  yet  reached 
them,  of  which  they  had  not  dreamed  before, 


MACARIA. 


108 


and  it  was  not  wonderful  that  the  handsome 
young  speaker  became  an  Idol  to  be  worship- 
ped ofav  ofT. 

As  he  descended  the  steps  and  disappeared 
amid  the  shouts  of  the  crowd,  Judge  Hairis 
turned  to  Mr.  Huntingdon  and  said,  with  ill- 
concealed  annoyance : 

"  You  have  lost  your  election  by  your  con- 
founded imprudence." 

"  That  remains  to  be  seen,  sir,"  was  the 
petulant  rejoinder. 

"  It  is  a  foregone  conclusion,"  muttered  Dr. 
Arnold,  buttoning  his  over-coat,  and  looking 
around  for  his  cane. 

"  I  have  sworn  a  solemn  oath  that  I  will 
trample  the  upstart  out  of  existence,  at  least 
politically !" 

"  As  well  try  to  trample  on  the  stars  yon- 
der !     Your  speech  ruined  you,  T  am  afraid  !" 

The  judge  "^Valked  ofl',  pondering  a  heavy 
bet  which  he  had  relative  to  the  result. 

By  sunrise  on  tlie  day  of  the  election  the 
roads  leading  to  town  were  crowded  with  vot- 
ere  making  their  way  to  the  polls.  The 
drinking-saloons  were  full  to  overflowing  ;  the 
side -walks  thronged  with  reeling  groups  as 
the  da)-  advanced.  Because  the  Huntingdon 
side  bribed  fj-cely,  the  Aubrey  partisans  felt 
that  they  must,  from  necessity,  follow  the  dis- 
graceful prc('ed#t.  Not  a  ladj'  showed  her 
face  upon  the  street;  drinking,  wrangling, 
fighting  was  the  order  of  the  day.  Windows 
were  smashed,  buggies  overturned,  and    the 

[lolice  exercised  to  the  utmost.  Accompanied 
)y  a  few  friends,  Mr.  Huntingdon  rode  from 
}ioll  to  poll,  encouraging  his  suppoi'ters,  and 
drawing  heavily  ujjou  his  purse,  while  Russell 
remained  quietly  in  his  office,  well  assured  of 
the  result.  At  five  o'clock, Vhen  the  town 
polls  closed,  Russell's  votes  showed  a  majority 
of  two  hundred  and  forty -four.  Couriers 
came  in  constantly  from  country  precincts, 
with  equally  favorable  accounts,  and  at  ten 
o'cloi'k  it  was  a.scertained,  beyond  doubt,  that 
he  was  elected.  Ir*ne  and  her  uncle  rode 
down  to  learn  the  (ruth,  and,  not  knowin'^ 
where  to  fiiul  Mr.  Huntingdon,  stopped  the 
carriage  at  the  corner  of  the  main  street,  and 
waited  a  few  mom^'nts.  Very  soon  a  rocket 
ythizzvd  through  the  air,  a  band  of  music 
•truck  up  before  Ru.ssell's  office,  afid  a  number 
of  his  adiiereiits  insisted  that  he  should  show 
himself  on  the  balcony.  A  crowd  immediately 
collected  opposite,  cheering  the  successfid  can- 
didate, and  calling  for  a  speech.  He  came 
out,  and,  in  a  few  hapjiy,  dignified  words, 
thanked  them  for  the  lionor  conferred,  and 
pledged  himself  to  guard  most  faithfullv  the 
interests  counnitted  to  his  keeping.  After  the 
noisy  constituents  had  retired,  he  stood  talking 
to  some  friends,  when  he  chanced  to  recognize 
the  fiery  horses  across  the  street.  The  car- 
riage-top was  thrown  back,  and  bV  the  neigh- 
boring gais-iight  he  saw  Irenes  white  face 
turned  toward  him,  then  the   horses  sprang 


off.  Mr.  Campbell  noticed,  without  under- 
standing, the  sudden  start,  and  bitter  though 
trium[)hant 'smile  th^t  crossed  his  face  in  the 
midst  of  .pleasant  gratulations. 

"  Go  home,  Andrew.     I  know  now  Avhat  T. 
■came  to  learn." 

Irene  sank  back  and  folded  her  mantle 
closer  around  her. 

■ "  Is  master  elected  ?" 

"  No." 

"  Your  father's  speech,  last  week,  was  most 
unfortunate  In  every  ret^pect,"  said  her  uuide, 
who  felt  indignant  and  mortified  at  the  course 
pursurd  by  his  brother-in-law. 

"  We  will  not  discuss  it,  if  you  please,  uncle 
Eric,  as  It  is  entire!}"  useless  now." 

"  Don't  you  think  tliat  Aubrey  deserves  to 
succeed  ?" 

"  Yes." 

Her  dreary  tone  disconcerted  him,  and  he 
ofiered  no  farther  comment,  little  suspecting 
that  her  hands  were  pressed  hard  against  her 
heart,  and  that  her  voiceless  sorrow  was : 
"  Henceforth  we  must  be  still  more  estranged; 
a  wider  gulf,  from  this  night,  divides  us." 

The  din,  the  tumult  of  the  day,  had  hushed 
itsell",  and  deep  silence  brooded  over  the  sleep- 
ing town,  when,  by  the  light  of  the  newly-riscn 
moou,  Russell  leaned  upon  the  little  gate  and 
gazed  on  the  neglected  cottage,  overgrown 
with  vines  and  crumbling  to  ruin.  A  sweet;, 
resigned  face  smiled  at  him  once  more  I'roni 
the  clustering  tendrils  that  festooned  the 
broken  window,  where.  In  other  years,  his 
mother  had  been  wont  to  sit  at  work,  watch- 
ing for  his  return  ;  and,  in  this  hour  of  his  first 
triumph,  as  he  sought  the  hallowed  spot,  a;ul 
thought  of  her  long  martyrdom,  recollection 
rolled  its  troubled  waves  over  liis  throbbing, 
exultant  heart,  until  the  proud  head  drooped 
on  the  folded  arms,  and  tears  fell  upon  the 
mouldering  gate. 

"Oh,  mother  I  mother!  if  you  could  have 
lived  to  see  this  day — to  share  my  victory  I" 

"Gtiost-liku  I  pared  roiiml  tlio  Iiaiiiits  of  my  cliililliood, 
Kartli  6voint«l  a  desert  I  whs  luiuii.l  to  traverse, 
SeeUiiig  to  find  tlie  old  ramiliar  faces. 

*  »  *  «  «  e  • 

All,  all  arc  gone,  the  old  familiar  faces  !" 
V 


CHAPTER  XXH. 

The  Icy  breath  of  winter,  the  mihl  wander- 
ing airu  of  spring,  the  luxurious  Inisstz-unus- 
fnire  murmurs  of  summer,  and  the  solemn 
moan  of  autumn,  hail  followed  each  other  in 
rafiid  succession.  Two  years  rolled  on,  s.'ained 
with  the  tears  of  many,  ringing  with  the  songs 
and  laughter  of  a  forttmate  few.  The  ])ath9 
of  some  had  wiilened  into  sunny  pasturts, 
flower- starred,  Cridavana  meadows;  otlurs 
had  grown  narrower  still,  choked  with  the 
dchris  of  dead  hopes,  which  the  tiile  of  time 
drifted   from  the   far-ofT  glittering   peaks  of 


lOi 


MACAIUA. 


carl)-  aspirations.    The.  witchery  of  Southern  j 

sjjriiie  again  envplop-d   W ,  and  Irene 

stood  on  the  lawn  survuving  the  '•pret'neryi 
<>'  the  out-door  world  "  that  surroundi-d  her. 
I'eafh  and  plum  orchards  on  tlie  slope  of! 
a  neighboriiiij  hill  wore  their  festal  robes  of, 
jjroniisc,  and  as  the  loiterinji  breeze  stole  j 
down  to  the  valley,  they  showered  rosy  per-  i 
liimed  shelln.  tiny  avant  cowirrs  of  abundant  \ 
fruitaire-  Tlie  air  was  re<loli-nt  with  delicate 
dLstillaiions  from  a  thousand  flowery  laborato- 
ries, stately  magnolias  rustled  their  polished 
sbimmering  leaves,  long-haired  acacias  trailed 
their  fringy  shadows  over  the  young  wavering 
gra«s-blades ;  and,  far  above  the  soft  green 
wildcrnefcs  of  tangled  willows,  regal  pines 
epread  out  their  wind-harps,  glittering  in  the 
^unshine  like  sjiiculaj  of  silver.  A  delicious 
laugor  brooded  in  the  atmosphere,  the  distant 
narrow  valleys  wore  full  of  purple  haze ;  be- 
yond and  above  the  town,  that  nestled  so 
jjeacefully  along  the  river  banks,  the  marble 
lingers  of  the  cemetery  gleamed  white  and 
<uld  ;  and  afar  ofl',  and  over  all,  was  heard  the 
rueasured  music  of  factory  bells,  chanting  a 
hymn  to  sacred  and  eternal  Labor.  With  her 
brown  straw  hat  in  one  hand  and  a  willow- 
basket  filled  with  flowers  in  the  other,  Irene 
leaned  against  the  glossy  trunk  of  an  ancient 
•wild-cherry  tree,  and  looked  in  dreamy  ab- 
straction'down  the  longshadowy  vista  of  vener- 
able elms.  Paragon  lay  panting  on  the  grass 
at  her  feet,  now  and  then  snapjjing  playfully 
at  the  tame  pigeons  who  had  iolPoued  their 
mistress  out  upon  the  lawn,  fluttering  and 
cooing'  continually  around  her;  and  a  few 
yards  off  a  golden  pheasant  and  two  peaco;'ks 
sunned  their  gorgeous  plumage  on  the  smooth- 
ly-cut hedges/ 

"         .        .        .        .      Some  faces  show 
Tho  laiit  atrt  of  .-I  trHK^'ly  ia  their  roi^ard, 
Thuiigli  Iho  first  sctiies  be  wiiutiii); ;" 

and  in  this  woman's  sad  but  intensely  calm 
countenance  a  joyless  Ike  found  silent  history. 
The  pale  forehead  bore  not  a  single  line,  tlie 
ijuiet  mouth  no  ripple  marks  traced  by  rolling 
years ;  but  the  imperial  eyes,  coldly  blue  as 
tlie  lonely  ice-gin  M:irjelen-See,  revealed,  in 
tkeir  melancholy  crystal  depUis,  the  drearv 
isolation  of  soul  with  which  she  had  been 
cuised  from  infan<y.  Iler  face  was  an  ivory 
tablet  inseiibed  with  hieroglyphics  which  no 
social, friendl}'  Chanipollion  iiadyetdeciphered. 
Satiated.with  universal  homage,  wtsary  of  the 
frivolity  of  tlie  gay  circle  surrounding  her,  and 
debarred  from  all  hope  of  alfectionate,  sympa- 
thetic intercourse  with  her  father,  her  real  lifo 
was  apart  from  the  world  iji  which  report  said 
that  she  ruled  supreme.  She  wandered  in 
the  primeval  temples  of  nature,  and  ministered, 
a  solitary  priestess,  at  the  silent,  blazing  shrine 
of  Astronomy.  The  soft  folds  of  her  white 
luuslin  dress  stirred  now  and  then,  and  the 
blue  ribbons  that  looped  ba-k  her  braided 
hair  fluttered    like    mimic   pennons-  in    the 


breeze  ;  but  the  clematis  bells  which  clustered 
around  her  cameo  pin  were  unshaken  by  the 
•low  pulsations  of  her  sad  heart.  She  felt  that 
her  lite  was  passing  rapitlly,  unimproved,  and 
aimless;  she  knew  that  her  years,  instead  of 
being  fragrant  with  the  mellow  fruita;:e  of 
pood  deeds,  were  tedious  antl  joyleis,  and  that 
the  gaunt,  numbing  hand  oi' ennui  was  closing 
upon  her.  The  elasticity  of  spuits,  the 
buoyancv  of  youth  had  given  place  to  aspeciei 
of  stoical  mute  apathy;  a  mental  and  morzd 
paralysis  was  stealing  over  her. 

The  slamming  of  the  pomlerous  iron  irate 
attracted  her  attentirtn,  and  she  saw  a  carriage 
ascending  the  avenue.  As  it  reached  a  point 
opposite  to  the  spot  where  she  stood  it  halted, 
the  door  was  thrown  open,  and  a  ceutleman 
stepped  out,  and  approached  her.  The  form 
was  not  familiar,  and  the  straw  hat  partially 
vifiled  the  features,  but  he  paused  beibrc  hUr, 
and  said,  with  a  genial  smile  : 

"  Don't  you  know  me  V" 

"  Oh,  liarvey !  My  brother !  My  great 
guardian  angel !"' 

A  glad  light  kindled  in  her  face,  and  she 
stretched  out  her  han<ls  with  the  eagerness  of 
a  delighted  child.  Time  had  pressed  heavily 
upon  him;  wrinkles  were  conspicuous  about 
the  corners  of  his  eyes  and  mouth,  and  the 
black  hair  had  become  asteuL-gray.     He  was 


not 


"A  little  Huuburiit  bj  the  jhu-o  of  life," 


but  weather-beaten  by  its  storms  ;  and,  in  lieu 
of  the  idiosyncratic  placidity  of  former  days,  a 
certain  restlessness  of  exjjression  betokened 
internal  disquiet.  Holding  her  hands,  he 
drew  her  nearer  to  him,  scrutinized  her 
features,  and  a  look  of  keen  sorrow  crosseil  his 
own  as  he  said,  almost  inaudibly: 

"I  feared  as  much!  I  leared  as  much  I 
The  shadow  has  spread." 

"You  kept  Punic  faith  with  me,  sir;  you 
promised  to  write,  and  failed.  I  sent  you  one 
letter,  but  it  was  never  ^^swered." 

"  Through  no  fault  ol.inine,  Irene;  I  never 
ixH'cived  it,  believe  inc.  True,  I  expected  to 
write  to  you  frequently  when  I  parted  with 
you,  but  subsetjuiintly  determined  that  it 
would  be  best  not  to  do  so.  Attribute  my 
silence,  however,  to  every  other  cause  than 
want  of  remembrance.' 

"  Your  letters  would  have  been  a  great  stay 
and  comfort  to  me." 

"Precisely  for  that  reason  I  sent  none.  I 
knew  that  you  must  rely  upon  yourself;  that 
I  could  not  properly  judge  of  the  circumstances 
which  surrounded  and  influenced  you.  One, 
at  least,  of  my  promises  has  'been  faithfully 
fulfilled  :  I  have  prayed  for  you  as  oflen  as 
for  myself  in  all  these  years  of  separation." 

"  God  only  knows  how  I  have  wanted,  how  I 
have  needed  you,  to  guide  and  strengthen  me." 

She  raised  the  two  hands  that  still  held 
hers,  and  bowed  her  forehead  upon  them. 


MACARIA. 


lOS 


"  You  had  a  better  friend,  dear  child,  al- 
ways near  you,  who  would  have  given  surer 
s:uidanoe  and  borne  all  your  burdens.  What 
i  most  dreaded  has  come  to  pass.  You  have 
forgotten  your  God." 
■  "No  !  indeed,  no  !  but  He  has  forsaken  me." 

"  Come  and  sit  down  here,  and  tell  me  what 
the  trouble  is." 

He  led  her  to  a  circular  seat  surrounding  a 
Yeuerable  oak,  and  placed  himself  where  he 
could  command  a  full  view  of  her  face. 

"Mr.  Young,  you  must  have  had  a  hard  life 
out" west;  you  have  grown  old  so  fast  since  I 
eaw  you.  But  you  have  been  doing  good,  and 
that  is  sufficient  recompense." 

"I  have,  of  course,  endured  some  hardships 
inseparable  from  such  a  long  sojourn  on  the 
frontier,  but  my  labors  have  been  so  successful 
that  I  forget  everything  in  my  great  reward. 
Many  a  fair  June  day  I  have  wished  that  you 
could  see  my  congregation,  as  we  stood  up  to 
sing  in  a  cool  shady  grove  of  beech  or  hack- 
berry,  offering  our  orisons  in  '  God's  first  tem- 
ples.' No  brick  and  mortar  walls,  but  pave- 
ments of  Gods  own  living  green,  and  dome  of 
blue,  and  choir  of  sinless,  consecrated  birds. 
My  little  log  cabin  in  the  far  West  is  very 
dear  to  me,  for  around  it  cluster  some  of  the 
moit  precious  reminiscences  of  my  life.  The 
greatest  of  my  unsatisfied  wants  was  that  of 
congenial  companionship.  I  betook  myself  to 
gardening  in  self-defence,  and  finer  annuals 
you  never  saw  than  those  which  I  raised  on 
my  hill-side.  My  borders  I  made  of  migno- 
nette, and  tiie  rusty  front  of  my  cabin  I  draped 
with  beautiful  festoons  of  convolvulus.  My 
hermitage  was  pleasant  enough,  though  humble 
^indeed)" 

"  Tell  me  the  secret  of  your  quiet  content- 
ment. By  what  spell  do  you  invoke  the 
atmosphere  of  liappy  serenity  that  constantly 
surrounds  you  ?" 

"  It  is  neither  occult  nor  cabalistic  ;  vou  will 
find  it  contained  in  the  few  words  of  Paul: 
'  Be  ye  steadfast,  unmoveable,  alwavs  abound- 
ing in  tlie  work  of  the  Lord;  forasmuch  as  ye 
know  tliat  your  labor  is  not  in  vain  in  tlie 
Lord.'  Tliere  is  nothing  recondite  in  this 
injunction ;  all  may  comprehend  and  practice 
iCk' 

"  It  may  seem  so  to  you,  who  dispense  peace 
«nd  blessings  wherever  you  move ;  but  to  me, 
alone  and  useless,  cut  off  from  such  a  sjiherc 
of  laber,  it  might  a^  well  be  locked  up  in  Par- 
fee.  I  thought  once  that  CJod  created  every 
human  being  for  .some  particular  work — some 
special  mission.  That,  in  order  that  the  vast 
social  machinery  of  the  world  migiit  move  har-^ 
moniously,  each  had  hi?  or  her  allotted  duties, 
in  accordance  with  thi-  grtat  fundamental  law 
of  economy — 'division  of  labor.'  But,  like 
many  other  youthful  theories,  I  have  been 
eomnelled  to  part  with  thip,  also." 

"  Rather  hold  faet  to  it,  for  tke  precious 
truth  it  is.     Do  you  not  find,  oi>  reflection, 


that  the  disarrangement,  the  confusion  in  this 
same  socia*^  mill  proves  that  some  of  the  hu- 
man cogs  are  broken,  or  out  of  place,  or  not 
rendering  their  part  ?  I  am  older  than  you, 
and  have  travelled  farther,  and  I  have  yet  to 
see  the  New  Atlantis,  where  every  member  of 
society  discharges  fully  the  duties  assigned. 

"•  X  might  gny,  in  a  world  fiiU  of  lipa  that  lack  bread. 
And  of  souls  that  laclc  lijht.  thorc  are  months  to  l>e  fod, 
Tlicrc  are  wounds  to  be  healed,  there  is  work  to  bo  doue, 
And  life  can  withhold  love  and  duty  from  none  ! ' " 

"  Irene, '  why  stand  ye  here  all  the  day  idle  ?* 
Why  wait  afar  off  to  orlt*an,  where  you  should 
be  a  busy  reaper  in  God's  whitening  harvest- 
fields? —  closing  your  ears  to  the  eager  cry, 
'  The  harvest  is  plentiful,  but  the  laborers  are 
few!'" 

A  wintry  smile  flitted  over  her  lips,  and  she 
shook  her  head. 

"  Ah,  sir !  long  ago  I  marked  out  a  different 
programme  ;  but  my  hands  are  tied.  I  am  led 
along  another  path  ;  I  can  do  nothing  now." 

"  You  owe  allegiance  first  to  your  INIaker. 
What  stands  between  you  and  your  work? 
Ireno,  tell  me  what  is  this  dark  cloud  that 
shuts  out  sunshine  from  your  heart,  and  throws 
such  a  chill  shadow  over  your  face  ?" 

He  diew  down  the  hand  with  which  she 
shaded  her  eyes,  and  bent  his  head  till  the 
gray  locks  touched  her  cheek.  She  did  not 
shrink  away,  but  looked  at  him  steadily,  and 
answered : 

"  It  is  a  cloud  that  enveloped  me  from  the 
hour  of  my  birth,  and  grows  denser  each  year; 
I  can  neither  escape  from  nor  dissipate  it.  It 
will  not  break  in  storms  and  clear  away;  but, 
perchance,  as  I  go  down  to  my  tomb  the  sil- 
ver liiu'ng  may  show  itself  The  sun  was 
eclipsed  when  I  first  opened  my  eyes  in  this 
world,  and  my  future  was  faithfully  adumbrat- 
ed. I  am  not  superstitious,  but  I  can  not  ba 
blind  to  the  striking  analogy — the  sombre  sym- 
bolism." 

Ilis  grave  face  was  painfully  convulsed  as  he 
listened  to  her,  and  it  was  with  difhi'ulty  that 
he  restrained  himself  from  drawing  the  head  to 
his  shoulder,  and  revealing  all  the  depth  and 
strength  of  love  which  had  so  long  ruled  his 
heart  and  s<addencd  his  life.  But  he  merely 
enclosed  her  hand  in  both  his  with  a  gentl* 
pressuru,  and  said  : 

"  Carry  out  your  metaphor,  and  at  least  yon 
must  admit  that,  though  the  sun  was  eclipsed, 
stars  come  out  to  light  you." 

"  But,  at  best,  one  shivers  and  gropes  through 
the  cold  light  of  stars,  and  mint;  have  all  set  in 
a  clouded  sky.  You  only  are  left  to  me ;  you 
shine  on  me  still,  undimmed,  all  the  brighter 
for  my  gloom.  Oh  !  if  I  could  have  you  al- 
ways. But  as  well  stretch  out  my  hands  te  ^ 
clutch  the  moon." 

He  started,  and  looked  at  her  wistfully,  but 
the  utter  passionlessness  of  her  face  and  man- 
ner showed  him  all  too  plainly  the  nature  of 
her  feelings  and  ner  ignorance  of  his  owu. 


106 


MACARIA. 


"Irene,  yon  deal  in  similies  and  vajiue  pen- 
eralitl'»8.  Has  absence  shaken  your  conficlcncc 
in  me  ?  Be  frank  ;  tell  nic  what  tliis  hnuntin;; 
trouhle  is,  and  let  me  help  yon  to  exorcise  it." 

"  You  ean  not.  All  the  Teraphim  of  the 
East  would  not  avail.  Let  it  suflVe  that, 
many  years  since,  I  displeased  my  father  in  a 
triflinp  matter  ;  and,  a.s  I  prow  oMer.  my  views 
and  \vi>ln  s  conflict^'d  with  his.  1  disappointed 
a  darlinjj  plan  which  he  hail  lonp  cherished. 
and  we  arc  cstranped.  We  live  here,  father 
and  daunhtcr,  in  lu.xury;  we  give  and  co  to 
partie,s  and  dinners  ;  before  the  world  we  keep 
up  the  semblance  of  affection  and  {rood  feel- 
ing; but  he  can  not,  will  not,  forijive  me.  I 
have  ceased  to  ask  or  to  expect  it;  the  only 
possible,  condition  of  reconcdiation  is  on«'  to 
•which  I  can  liever  consent ;  and,  for  more  than 
two  years,  he  has  scarcely  spoken  to  me  ex- 
cept when  compelled  to  do  so.  I  pass  my  davs 
in  a  monotonous  round,  wisliinp  for  to-morrow. 
and  my  nights  yonder,  among  the  stars.  I 
have  little  money  to  dispense  in  charity;  I 
dress  richly,  but  the  materials  are  selected  by 
my  father,  who  will  have  my  clothing  of  tlie 
costliefe't  fabrics,  to  suit  his  elegant  and  fastidi- 
ous taste.  Though  an  only  cliild,  and  pre- 
emptive heiress  of  one  of  tiie  finest  estates  at 
the  South,  I  Iiave  not  a  dime  in  the  world  which 
I  can  call  my  own,  except  a  small  sum  whi<h 
he  voluntarily  allows  me  per  annum.  Mark 
you,  I  do  not  complain  of  my  father — for,  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye,  I  could  change  this  un- 
natural po.sifio!i  of  affairs  in  my  home;  I  only 
mention  some  stern  facts  to  prove  to  you  that 
my  hands  are  tied.  It  was  once  the  fondest 
desire  of  my  life  to  expend  the  fortune  tha\ 
•I  supposed  Itelonged  to  me  in  alleviating  suf- 
,  JJEring  and  want,  and  making  people  hapj)y 
aroun<l  me;  but,  like  other  dewy  sparkles  of 
childhood,  this  hojie  vanished  as  the  heat  and 
strife  of  life  overtook  me." 

Slie  spoke  in  a  low,  nioasured  tone,  unshaken 
by  c.molion,  and  the  expression  of  dreary  ab- 
straction showed  that  she  had  long  accustomed 
herself  to  this  contemplation  of  In^r  lot.  Tln^ 
minister  was  iU;cply  moved  as  he  watched  her 
beautiful  calm  features,  so  hushed  in  their  joy- 
lessness,  and  he  passed  his  hand  across  his  eyes 
to  wipe  away  the  moistun;  that  so  unwofitedly 
dimmed  them.  lie  pressed  her  lingers  to  his 
lips,  and  said,  encouragingly  : 

''Lift  UiyHiiir up  !  u)i,  thou  ofindileni'il  fnro! 
Ceaiio  IroDi  tliy  iiif;tiin«.  draw  from  out  tliy  heart 
Thr  joyful  ligiit  of  faith." 

"You  a.sked  me  onc-e  to  be  your  brother; 
my  dear  child,  let  me  prove  myself  such  now  ; 
let  mc  say  that,  perhaps,  it  is  your  duty  to 
yield  obedience  to  your  father's  wishes,  since 
this  deplorable  alil;nation  results  from  your 
refusal.  You  never  can  be  happy,  standing 
in  this  unnatural  relation  to  an  only  parent. 
Because  it  is  i)aiiiful,  and  involves  a  sacrifice 
on  your  part,  should  you  consider  it  any  the 


less  your  duty  ?     Has  he  not  a  right  to  expect 
that  his  wishes  .should  guide  you  ?" 

She  rose  instantly,  and,  withdrawing  her 
hands,  folded  them  together  and  replied,  with 
an  indescribable  mingling  of  hauteur  and  sor- 
row: 

"  Has  he  a  right  to  give  my  hand  to  a  man 
whom  I  do  not  love  V  Ha,s  he  a  right  to  <lrag 
mc  to  the  altar,  and  force  me  to  swear  to  '  love 
and  honor'  one  whom  I  can  not  even  respect? 
Could  you  stand  by  and  see  your  father  doom 
your  sister  to  such  a  miserable  fate?  I  would 
•  onsent  to  die  for  my  father  to- morrow,  if 
thereby  I  might  make  him  hapi)y  ;  but  I  can 
not  endure  to  live,  ami  bring  upon  myself  the 
curse  of  a  loveless  marriage ;  and,  God  is  my 
witness,  I  never,  will  I" 

Her  eyes  gleamed  like  blue  steel,  and  the 
stern,  gem-like  features  vividly  reminded  him 
of  a  medal  of  the  noble  ^ledu.^a  which  he  ha^ 
frccjuently  examined  an<l  admired  whilft  in 
Rome.  In  that  brief  flash  he  saw,  with  aston* 
ishment,  that  beneath  the  studieilly  calm 
exterior  lay  an  iron  will,  and  a  rigidness  of 
purpose,  which  he  had  never  conjectured  be- 
longed to  her  character. 

"  Forgive  me,  Irene  ;  I  retract  my  wonls. 
Ignorant  of  the  nature  of  the  demand,  I  should 
not  have  presumed  to  counsel  you.  Keep 
true  to  the  instincts  of  your  own  heart,  and 
you  will  never  go  far  astray  in  the  path  of 
duty.  May  God  bless  and  comfort  you  !  Oth- 
er friends  can  lend  you  no  assistance  in  these 
peculiar  circumstam-cs." 

He  could  not  trust  himself  to  say  more,  for 
feelings  too  painful  for  utterance  stirred  the 
depths  of  his  soul. 

For  some  moments  silence  reigned ;  then, 
standing  before  him,  Irene  said,  with  touching 
pathos : 

"  My  friend,  I  am  so  -desolate  !  so  lonely  !    I 
am  drifting  down  the  current  of  life  aimless, 
hopeless,  usele.ss  !     What  shall  I  do  with  my 
future?     I  beliove  I  am   slowly  ])etrifying  ;    I 
neither  suffer  nor  enjoy  as  formerly  ;  my  foel- 
,  ings   are    deadened  ;  I    am   growing   callous, 
indifferent  to  everything.     1   am    fast   losing 
sympathy  for  the  .sorrows  of  others,  swallowed 
up   in  self,  oblivious  of  the  noble  aspirations 
i  wiiich    spanned    the    early  years  like    a  bow 
of  promist^.     I  am  cut  off  from  companionship  ; 
have  no  friend,  save  an  uncle,  to  whom  I  lould 
1  y)Ut  out  my  hand  for  support.     People  talk  of 
I  the  desolation  of  \Vestern  wiMs  aTid   Kastern 
I  deserts;  but,  oh  !  God  knows  there  is  no  isola- 
tion comparable  to  that  of  a  woman  who  walks 
I  daily  thi-oni;li   halls  of  wealth  and  gay  salons, 
I  knowing  that  no  human  being  'inderstands  or 
:  truly  sympathises  with' her.     My  prophet!  as 
!  you  long  ago  foretold,  I  am  'treading  the  wine- 

fress  alone.'    Once  more  I  ask  you,  what  shall 
do  with  my  life  ?" 
I      "  (Jive  it  to  God." 

"  Ah !  there  is  neither  grace  nor  virtue  in 
I  Necessity.     Ho  will  not  accept  the  worthless 


MACARIA. 


107 


thing  thrown  at  His  feet  as  a  dernier  resort. 
Once  it  was  my  choice,  but  tlie  pure,  clear- 
eyed  faith  of  my  childhood  shook  hands  with 
me  when  you  left  me  in  New  York." 

For  a  short  while  he  struggled  with  himself, 
Btriving  to  overcome  the  uncontjuorable  im- 
pulse wliich  suddenly  prompted  him,  and  his 
face  grew  pallid  as  hers  as  he  walked  hastily 
across  the  smooth  grass  and  came  back  to  her. 
Her  countenance  was  lifted  toward  tlie  neigh- 
boring liill,  her  thoughts  evidently  far  away, 
when  he  paused  before  her,  and  said,  unsteadi- 
ly : 

"Irene,  my  beloved!  give  yourself  to  me. 
Go  with  me  into  God's  vineyard;  let  us  work 
togetiier,  and  consecrate  our  lives  to  His  ser- 
vice." 

The  mesmeric  eyes  gazed  into  his,  full  of 
wonder,  and  the  rich  ruby  tint  (led  from  her 
lips  as  she  pondered  his  words  in  unfeigned 
astonishment,  and,  shaking  her  regal  head,  an- 
swered, slowly : 

"  Harvey,  I  am  not  worthy.  I  want  your 
counsel,  not  your  pity." 

'•  Pity  !  you  mistake  me.  If  you  have  been 
ignorant  so  long,  know  now  that  I  have  loved 
you  from  the  evening  you  first  sat  in  my  study 
looking  over  my  foreign  sketches.  You  were 
then  a  child,  but  I  was  a  man,  and  I  knew  all 
that  you  h;id  so  suddenly  become  to  me.  Be- 
cause of  this  great  disparity  in  years,  and 
because  I  dared  not  hope  that  one  sb  tenderlj- 
nurtured  could  ever  brave  the  hardships  of 
my  projected  life,  I  determined  to  quit  New 
York  earlier  than  I  had  anticipated,  and  to 
bury  a  foolish  memory  in  the  trackless  forests  of 
the  far  West.  I  ought  to  have  known  the  fallacy 
of  my  expectation  ;  I  have  proved  it  since. 
Your  face  tbllowed  me ;  your  eyes  met  mine 
at  every  turn ;  your  glittering  hair  swept 
on  every  breeze  that  touched  my  cheek.  I  j 
battled  with  the  image,  but  it  would  not  avail;  j 
I  resolved  not  to  write  to  you,  but  found  that  ] 
the  dearest  part  of  my  letters  from  home 
consisted  of  tiie  casual  allusions  which  they 
contained  to  you.  Then  came  tidings  from  ; 
Louisa  that  you  were  probably  married — had 
long  been  engaged  to  your  cousin ;  and,  though 
it  wrung  my  iieart  to  thi«ik  of  you  as  the  wFfe 
of  anotiier,  I  schooled  myself  to  hope  that,  for 
your  sake,  it  might  be  true.  But  years  passed  ; 
no  confirmation  reached  me;  and  the  yearnin" 
to  look  on  your  <lear  face  once  more  took  pos- 
session of  me.  My  mother  wrote,  urging  me 
to  visit  her  this  summer,  and  I  came  out  of  my 
way  to  hear  of  alid  to  see  you.  Tlic  world 
sneers  at  the  possibility  of  such  love  as  mine, 
and  I  doubt  not  that  it  is  very  rare  amon<r 
men;  but,  through  all  the  dreary  separation'^ 
I  have  tlioiigiit  of  you  as  constantly,  and  fond- 
ly, and  tenderly  as  when  I  first  met  you  in  my 
father's  house.  Irene,  you  are  younfr,  and 
singularly  bcautidd,  and  I  am  a  gray-haired 
man,  much,  much  older  than  yourself;  but,  if 
you  live  a  thousand  years,  you  will  never  find 


such  affection  as  I  offer  you  now.  There  is 
nothing  on  earth  which  would  make  me  so  hap- 
])y  as  the  possession  of  your  love.  You  are  the 
only  woman  I  have  ever  seen  whom  I  even 
wished  to  call  my  wife — the  only  woman  who, 
I  felt,  could -lend  new  charm  to  life,  and  make 
my  quiet  hearth  happier  by  her  presence. 
Irene,  will  you  share  my  future  ?  Can  you 
give  me  what  I  ask  ?" 

The  temptation  was  powerful — the  future  he 
held  out  enticing  inthied.  The  strong,  holy, 
manly  love,  the  noble  heart  and  head  to  gv.ide 
her,  the  firm,  tender  hand  to  support  her,  the 
<:onstanf,  consefiial,  and  delightful  comj)anion- 
ship — all  this  passed  swiftly  through  her  mind; 
but,  crushing  all  in  its  grasp,  came  the  memory 
of  one  whom  she  rareVy  met,  but  who  held 
undisputed  sway  over  her  proud  heart. 

Drawing  close  to  the  minister,  she  laid  her 
hands  on  his  shoulder,  and,  looking  reverently 
up  into  his  fine  face,  said,  in  her  peculiarly 
sweet  clear  voice : 

"  The  knowledge  of  your  priceless,  unmerited 
love  makes  me  proud  beyond  degree ;  but  I 
would  not  mock  you  by  the  miserable  and  only 
return  I  could  make  you — the  affection  of  a 
devoted  sister.  I  would  gla<lly,  thankfully  go 
with  you  to  your  Western  home,  and  redeem 
my  past  by  my  future  —  but,  as  your  wife,  I 
could  not ;  and,  without  the  protection  of  your 
honored  name,  it  would  not  be  permitted  mc 
to  accompany  you.  I  look  up  to  you  as  to  no 
otlrer  human  being  ;  I  revere  and  love  you, 
Harvey  ;  and,  oh  !  I  wish  that  I  could  pass  my 
life>  at  your  side,  cheered  by  your  smile,  doing 
some  good  in  the  world.  That  I  do  not  love 
you  as  you  wish,  is  my  great  misfortune;  for 
I  appreciate  most  fully  the  noble  privilege 
you  have  tendered  me.  1  do  not  say  what  I 
earnestly  wish  could  happen,  that  you  )v-ill 
find  some  one  else  who  can  make  you  happy, 
because  I  feel  that  no  woman  whom  I  linvc 
ever  met  is  worthy  of  being  your  wife.  Uut 
I  trust  that  the  pain  I  may  give  you  now  will 
soon  pass  away,  afid  that,  in  -time,  you  w'll 
forget  one  who  is  utterly  undeserving  of  tlic 
honor  you  have  conferred  on  her  to-d;iy. 
Oh,  Harvey  !  do  not,  I  beg  of  yon,  let  one 
thought  of  me  ever  di.Hjuiet  your  noble,  gen- 
erous heart." 

A  shiver  crept  over  her  still  face,  and  she 
drooped  her  pale  forehead.  She  felt  two  tears 
fall  uj)on  hir  hair,  and  in  silence  he  bent 
down  and  kissed  her  softly,  tenderly,  as  one 
kisses  a  sleeping  babe. 

"Oh,  Harvey!  do  not  let  it  grieve  you, 
dear  friend  !" 

He  smiled  sadly,  as  if  not  daring  to  trust 
himself  in  words;  then,  after  a  moment,  laying 
his  hands  upon  her  head,  in  the  baptism  of  a 
deathless  love,  he  gently  and  solemnly  blessed 
her.  When  his  fingers  were  removed  she 
raised  her  eyes,  but  he  had  gone  ;  she  saw 
only  the  retreating  form  through  the  green 
arches  of  the  grand  old  avenue. 


lOS 


MACARIA. 


'  Unlike  are  wo.  unlike.  O  princely  heart ! 
L'ltlike  our  uiiei  and  uur  dritiiiirR. 
Our  minidterinK  tw*  anpeli  l<H.>k  lurprlso 
Ou  ('MC  another,  ai  thry  itrike  atliwart 
Their  wiii;;^  in  paKsiiiR.     .     .i.     .     .     .     * 
Tlie  rhrisiii  ia  ou  tliiiie  liaaJ— on  mine  the  dew. 
And  dvatli  mu»t  di;;  thu  level  ulioie  tUeaoacrea." 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

Says  D'Alcmljcrt :  '•  The  industry  of  men  is 
now  so  far  exhaustiMl  in  canvassinjr  for  places, 
that  none  is  left  for  fulfilling  the  duties  of 
them;"  and  tho  history  of  our  covernment 
furnishes  a  melancholy  parallel.  1'he  regular 
quadrennial  stonn  had  swept  over  the  nation  ; 
caucuses  had  been  held  and  platforms  fiercely 
fought  for,  to  be  kicked  away,  plank  by  plank, 
when  they  no  longer  served  as  scalTolding  by 
•which  to  chnib  to  oflicc.  Buchanan  was 
elect<.'J,  but  destined  to  exemplify,  during  his 
administration,  tlie  truth  of  Tacitus'  words  : 
"lie  was  regarded  as  greater  than  a  private 
man  whilst  he  remained  in  privacy,  and  would 
Lave  been  deemed  worthy  of  governing  if  he 
had  never  governed."  The  heat  of  the  can- 
vass cooled,  peoj^le  settled  down  once  more  to 
a  condition  of  lethargic  indilference — bought 
and  sold,  sowed  and  reaped,  as  usual — little 
realizing  that  the  temporary  lull,  the  perfect 
calm,  was  treacherous  as  the  glassy  green  ex- 
panse of  waters  which,  it  is  said,  sometimes 
coTtys  the  location  of  the  all-destroying  niicl- 
strom  of  Moskoe.  Having  taken  an  active 
and  prominent  part  in  the  presidential  cam- 

J)aign,  and  m'^de  frequent  speeches,  .llussidl 
bund  himself  again  opposed  by  Mr.  Hunting- 
don, who  was  ecjually  indefatigable  during 
J.he  e.xciling  contest.  The  old  feud  received, 
possible,  additional  acrimony,  and  there 
no  bounds  to  the  maledictions  heajied 
Jn  the  young  and  impertui'bable  legislator 
\y  his  virulent  antagonist.  Many  predicted  a 
luel  or  a  street  rencounter ;  but  weeks  |)ass('d, 
and  though,  in  casual  meetings,  Mr.  Hunting- 
don's glare  of  hate  was  always  answered  by  a 
mocking  smile  of  cold  disdain,  the  cloud  floated 
ofl'witiiout  breaking  into  bloody  showers. 

Mr.  Mitchell's  health  had  failed  so  rapidly, 
as  winter  apjiroachal,  that  Dr.  Arnold  per- 
Bua<led  him  to  try  the  eflicac-y  of  a  sea-voyage, 
and  he  had  accordingly  sailed  from  New  Or- 
leans in  a  vessel  buund  for  Genoa.  Irene 
begged  the  privilege  of  accompanying  him, 
but  her  father  peremptorily  refused.;  and  she 
8aw  her  uncle  depart,  and  superintended  the 
closing  of  his  house,  with  silent  sorrow,  and  the 
feeling  of  one  who  knows  that  the  niglit  is 
decjtcning  around  her.  In  the  course  of  the 
political  cataclysm  much  chad'  came  to  the 
•urface,  and  whirled  along  with  portentous 
alacrity ;  gossip  seemed  to  have  received  a  new 
uupetus,  and  among  the  most  imj)ortant  on- 
dils  was  that  of  Irene's  speedy  marriage  to 
ber    cousin.     Ilundred-tongued    rumor    was 


busy,  too,  with  the  mysterious  fact  that  RusdeU 
ha<.l  placed  a  handsome  iron  railing  around 
the  humblte  home  of  his  boyhood  ;  liad  removed 
the  little  three -roomed  crumbling  dwelling, 
ai>d  planted  shade-trees.  Much  curio>ity  was 
excited,  and  the. only  plausil)le  solution  at 
which  the  kindly  inquiring  public  arrived  was, 
that  he  intended  to  marry  somfbody.  But 
whom '?  He  occasionally  visited  at  Judge 
Harris'  and  Mr.  Henderson's,  and,  as  he  hatl 
been  seen  last  at  the  house  of  the  former,  by  a 
species  of  not  very  ab.xtrusc  i"»tiocination  it 
was  finally  decided,  and  ])roumlgat('d  as  a 
social  edict,  that  the  talented  young  lawyer 
would  soon  claim  (Iracc's  hand  at  the  altar. 
In  less  than  twenty-four  hours  all  of  fiishion- 

able  W : —  had  discussed  the  young  lady's 

brilliant  future,  and  were  ready  to  tender 
their  congratulations  to  tlic  ambitious  man, 
who  was  utterly  unconsiiousof  the  commotion 
which  his  individual  plans  and  actions  hud 
induced.  This  in.satiable  m;iiiia  for  obtaining 
information,  about  other  people's  affairs^  and 
purposes,  this  riiliculous  and  contcmptibl* 
tittle -t;vttle,  this  news-mongering,  scandal- 
pedlaring  proclivity,  characteristic  of  cities, 
towns,  villages,  and  even  coimtry  neighbor- 
hoods, should  certainly  have  been  included  by 
the  Massachusetts  sfcr  in  his  catalogue  of 
"social  inflictions  which  the  magistrate  can  not 
cure  or  defend  you  from,  and  which  mtist  b« 
intrusted  to  the  restraining  force  of  custoA, 
and  proverbs,  and  familiar  rules  of  behavior 
impressed  on  young  ])eople  in  their  school 
days;"  and  I  trust  1  may  be  allowed  the  ad- 
ditional suggestion,  "by  mothers  arouml  th« 
hearthstone."  But,  unfbrtanately,  the  ailmir- 
able  adage  ^^il  funt  allernlre  le  boiteujc"  findu 
no  aceeptition  in  beau  mowle. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  of  Christmas  day 
Irene  went  into  the  green-house  to  gather  a 
bompiet  for  an  invalid  friend  in  town,  and  had 
almost  accomplished  her  errand  when  tlm  . 
crash  and  whir  of  wheels  drew  her  to  the  win- 
dow that  looked  out  upon  the  lawn.  Her 
father  had  gone  to  the  ])lantation  early  that 
morning,  and  she  had  scarcely  time  tocoiiject- 
nre  whom  the  visitor  would  prove,  when 
Hugh's  loud  voice  rang  through  the  house, 
and,  soon  after,  he  came  clattering  in,  with 
the  end  of  his  pantaloons  crammed  into  his 
boots  and  his  whip  trailing  aloiig  in  true  boy- 
ish fashion.  As  he  throw  down  his  hat,  scat- 
tering the  petals  of  a  snowy  camelia,  and  drew 
near  his  couisin,  she  saw  that  his  face  was  deep- 
ly flushed,  and  his  eyes  somewhat  bloodshot. 

"Hugh!  what  are  you  doing  liere?  Father 
expected  you  to  overtake  him  at  Crescent 
Bend;  you  said  last  night  that  you  would  start 
by  fiv(!  o'clock." 

"  Merry  Christmas,  mybeauty  !  I  have  come 
for  my  Christmas  gift.  Give  it  to  me,  like  th« 
queen  you  are." 

He  stooped,  as  if  to  kijp  her,  but  she  shran'c 
back  instantly,  and  said,  gravely : 


MACARIA. 


1&9 


"  You  ouglit  not  to  make  promises  whicli 

'  you  have  no  idea  of  keepinjr ;  father  will  be 

annoyed,   and  wonder  very   much  what  has 

*    happened.     He  was  anxious  that  you  should 

.     go  with  him." 

"  Oh !  confound  the  plantation !  I  wish  it 
would  sink  !  Of  all  other  days  none  but  Christ- 
mas will  suit  himto  tramp  down  tiicre  through 
mud  and  mire.  The  fact  is,  I  did  not  go  to 
sleep  till  four  o'clock,  and  nobody  ought  to 
be  unchri.^tian  enough  to  expect  me  to  wake 
up  in  an  hour.  You  may  be  quiet,  though,  for 
I  am  on  my  way  now  to  that  paradise  of  black 
*  mud.  I  only  stopped  to  get  a  glimpse  of  you, 
my  Sappho !  my  Corinna !  so  don't  homilize, 
I  psay  you." 

"  Better  wait  till  daylight,  Hugh ;  you  know 
the  state  of  the  roads  and  Condition  of  the 
bridges.  It  will  be  safer,  and  an  economy  of 
time,  to  defer  it  till  morning,  since  you  have 
made  it  so  late." 

"  No ;  I  must  go  to-night,  for  I  have  an  en- 

fagemcnt  to  ride  with  Maria  Henderson,  and 
can't  get  back  in  time  if  I  wait  till  to-mor- 
row morning.  I  want  to  start  back  day  after 
to-morrow.  As  for  time.  Wildfire  will  make 
it  ohe  better  for  the  darkness ;  he  is  as  much 
afraid  of  night  and  shailows  as  if  he  had  a 
conscience,  and  had  maltreated  it,  master- 
like. I  shall  convince  him  that  all  Tam 
O'Shanter's  witches  are  in  full  pursuit,  and  his 
matchless  heels  his  only  salvation." 

A  shade  of  apprehensieu  settled  on  her  face, 
and,  placing  the  bouquet  in  a  basket,  she 
turned  to  her  cousin,  saying  : 

"Indeed,  you  can  not  be  insane  enough  to 
drive  that  horse  such  a  night  as  this  weather 
threatens.  \{  go  you  will,  in  the  face  of  a 
coming  rain,  leave  Wildfire  here,  and  drive 
one  of  the  carriagt-horsea  instead.  I  shall  be 
uneasy  if  you  start  with  that  vicious,  unman- 
ageable incarnation  of  lightning.  Let  me 
ring  the  bell  and  direct  Andrew  to  make  the 
change." 

She  stepped  into  the  parlor  adjoining,  and 
FaiJ  her  fingers  on  the  bell -cord,  but  he 
snatched  up  the  hand  and  kissed  it  several 
times. 

"  No  I  I  '11  be  hanged  if  I  don't  drive  my  own 
pearl  of  Arabia  1  I  can  manage  him  .well 
aiiough  ;  and,  beside,  what  do  you  care  whether 
he  breaks  my  neck  or  not  {  Without  coju- 
punction  you  broke  my  heart,  which  is  much 
the  greater  catastrophe." 

'•  Come  into  the  library  ;  you  don't  know 
what  you  are  saying." 

She  tlrew  him  into  the  room,  where  a  warm 
fire  burned  cheerfully,  and  made  him  sit  down. 

"  Where  did  you  go  last  night  when  you  left 
here  'i     Tell  me." 

"  To  Harry  Neal's  ;  a  party  of  us  were  in- 
vited tli(pre  to  drink  egg-nog,  and,  of  course, 
found  something   stronger   afterward.     Then 

wc  had  a  game  or  so  of  poker,  and ,  the 

graDd^na/<  is,  that  I  have  had  a  deuced  head- 


ache all  day.  Ah,  my  sweet  saint !  how 
shocked  you  are,  to  be  sure!'  Now,  don't 
lecture,  or  I  shall  be  off  like  a  flash." 

W'ithout  answering,  she  rang  the  bell  and 
quietly  looped  back  the  heavy  crimson  cuiv 
tains. 

"  What  is  that  for  ?  Have  you  sent  for 
John  or  old  Nellie  to  carry  me  up  stairs,  lika 
other  bad  boys  sent  to  bed  in  disgrace,  with- 
out even  the  cold  comfort  of  supper  V 

"  Hush,  Hugh  !  hush." 

Turning  to  John,  who  opened  the  door  and 
looked  in,  she  said : 

"  Tell  William  to  make  some  strong  coffe« 
as  soon  as  possible.  Mas'  Hugh  has  a  head- 
ache, and  wants  some  before  he  leaves." 

"  Thank  you,  my  angel !  my  unapproachable 
Peri !  Ugh  !  how  Cold  it  is.  Pardon  me,  but 
I  really  must  warm  my  feet." 

He  threw  thvra  carelessly  on  the  fender  of 
the  grate. 

"  Shall  I  get  you  a  pair  of  slippers  ?" 

"  Could  not  afford  the  luxury;  positively 
have  not  the  time  to'indulge  myself. 

With  a  prolonged  yawn  he  laid  his  head 
back  and  closed  his  eyes.  An  expression  of 
disgust  was  discernible  in  his  companion's 
countenance,  but  it  passed  like  the  shadow  of 
a  summer  cloud,  and  she  sat  down  at  the 
opposite  side  of  the  fire-place,  with  her  eyes 
bei^t  upon  the  hearth,  and  the  long  silky 
lashes  sweeping  her  cheeks.  A  silence  of  some 
minutes  ensued;  finally  Hugh  rapped  start- 
lingly  on  his  boot  with  the  ivory  handle  of 
his  whip,  and  exclaimed  : 

"  A  Quaker-meeting  is  no  part  of  my  pro-      , 
gramme  !    What  the  mischief  are  you  thinking 
about  ?  —  looking  as  solemn  as  an  archbishop 
in  canonicals  !" 

"  Do  you  really  want  to  know  what  I  am 
thinking  of?" 

"  Of  course  I  do,  if  it  is  not  something  as 
supernal  and  far  off  as  the  stars,  which  you 
have  taken  under  your  special  protection  and 
patronage." 

"  I  was  thinking  of  a  passage  which  I  read 
yesterday,  and  wishing  that  it  could  be 
framed  and  hung  up  in  every  dwelling. 
Emerson  say*:  '  Goethe  said  well,  '  nobody 
should  be  rich  but  those  who  understand  it.* 
They  should  own  "who  can  administor,  not 
they  who  hoard  and  conceal ;  not  they  who, 
the  greater  proprietors  they  are,  are  only  the 
greater  beggars;  but  they  whose  work  carvct 
out  work  for  more,  opens  a  path  for  all.  For 
he  is  the  rich  man  in  whom  the  people  are 
rich,  and  he  is  the  poor  man  In  whom  the 
people  are  poor  ;  and  how^  to  give  all  accesa 
to  the  master-pieces  of  art  and  nature,  is  the 
problem  of  civilization.'  Weighed  in  this 
balance,  how  many  of  our  millionaires,  think 
you,  would  find  Bclshazzar'i  warning  traced  * 
on  thrir  walls  '/" 

"  All  of  which,  I  suppose,  I  am  to  interpret 
into  a  polite  circumlocutory  way  of  telling  me 


110 


MACARIA. 


a  wortliloss  spcndtlirifV,  squander-. 
a  fortune  which   I  don't    de'Scrve, 


that  I  am 
ing   away 

and  a  disgrace  to  my  fair  cousinly  Lady 
IJountiful  ?  When  do  you  contemplate 
mounting  a  pedestal,  marble  image  that  you 
are,  folding  those  incomparable  hand:)  of 
yours,  and  encouraging  idolatry  ?  I  promise 
vou  I  Khali  fall  down  and  worship  most  irre- 
proachably. But  seriously,  Irene,  if  you  do 
not  admire  my  style  of  living,  why  don't  you 
take  me  in  hand,  as  is  your  privilege,  and 
make  me  a  model  of  strait-laced  propriety  ?" 

"  You  might,  witli  very  great  advantage  to 
vourself,  take  a  little  common-sense  in  hand. 
Of  course,  Hugh,  you  are  your  own  master,  but 
it  fre<piently  pains  me  to  see  you  throwing 
away  vour  life  and  privileges  so  recklessly. 
You  might  do  a  vast  amount  of  good  with 
your  money,  if  you  felt  disposed  to  employ  it 
benevolently  and  judiciously." 

"  Well,  whose  fault  is  it '?  I  offered  to 
make  you  my  banJver,  and  let  you  dispense 
charities  for  both  of  us,  and  you  snatched 
back  your  dainty  fingers  in  hauglity  refusal. 
If  I  play  Prodigal  to  the  end  of  the  chapter, 
you  are  responsible  for  it." 

"  liegging  your  pardon,  sir,  I  am  no  scape- 
goat for  any  of  your  short-comings.  Shoulder 
your  own  pe(,cadilloes,  if  you  please.  But 
here  comes  your  coffee.  Put  the  waiter  on 
the  table,  John,  and  tell  Andrew  to  take  Mas' 
Hugh's  buggy." 

"  Do  nothing  of  the  kind  !  but  send  some- 
body to  open  that  everlasting  gate,  which 
would  not  have  disgraced  ancient  Thebes. 
Are  you  classical,  John  'i  Be  off,  and  see 
about  it;  I  must  start  in  five  minutes." 

"  Hugh,  bi4  reasonable  for  once  in  your  life  ; 
you  are  not  in  a  proper  condition  to  drive 
that  horse.  For  my  sake,  at  least,  be  persuuJ- 
(•(1  to  wait  till  morning.  Will  you  not  remaia, 
lo  oblige  me  ?" 

"  Oil,  hang  my  condition  !  I  tell  you  T  must 
lid  I  will  go,  if  all  the  stars  fall  and  judg- 
Mieiit  day  overtakes  me  on  the  road.  What 
splendid  coffee  you  always  have  !  The  most 
fastidious  of  bashaws  could  not  find  it  in  his 
Moorish  heart  to  complain." 

He  put  on  his  hat^  buttoned  liis  costly  fur 
coat,  and,  nourishing  his  whip,  came  .close  to 
his  cousin. 

"  Good-by,  beauty.  I  hate  to  leave  you ;  upon 
my  word  1  do;  but  duty  before  pleasure,  my 
heavenly-eyed  monitress.  I  have  not  had  my 
Christmas  present  yet,  and  have  it  I  will." 

"  On  one  condition,  Hugh:  that  you  drive 
cautiously  and  moderately,  instead  of  thun- 
dering down  hills  and  over  bridges  like  some 
eTCjH'css  train  behind  time.   Will  you  promiseV" 

"To  be  sure  I  will!  everything  in  the 
Avorld;  and  am  ready  to  swear  it,  if  you  are 
sceptical." 

'•  Well  then,  good-by,  Hugh,  and  take  c?ire 
of  3"ourself."  * 

She  allowed  him  to  press  his  hot  lips  to  hers, 


I  and,  accompanying  him  to  the  door,  saw  him 
I  juinji  into  the  frail  open-topjied  buggy.  Wild- 
lire  jilunged  and  sprang  oil"  in  his  usual  style, 
and,  with  a  crack  of  the  whip  and  wave  of  his 
I  hat,  Hugh  was  fairly  start<'d. 
I  Seven  hours  later  Irene  sat  alone  at  the 
'  library  table,  absorbed  in  writing  an  article  on 
Laplace's  Nebular  Theory  for  the  scientific 
journal  to  which  she  oi'casionally  contributed 
over  the  signature  of  "  Sabajan."  Several 
books,  with  close ''marginalias,"  werescatterctl 
around,  and  the  "  iMe(ani(iue  Celeste*'  and  a 
volume  of  "  Cosmos"  lay  open  before  her.  The 
servants  had  gone  to  rest;  the  house  w;i> 
very  still,  the  silence  unbroken  save  by  th 
moan  of  the  wintl  and  the  melancholy  tapping 
of  the  poplar  branches  against  the  outside. 
The  sky  was  black,  gloomy  as  Malbolge;  and, 
instead  of  a  hard,  pattering  rain,  a  fine,  cold 
mist  drizzled  noiselessly  down  the  jcmes. 
Wrapped  in  her  work,  Irene  wrote  on  rapidiv 
till  tlie  clock  struirk  twelve.  She  counted  the 
strokes,  saw  that  there  remained  but  one  pao^o 
uncopied,  and  concluded  to  finish  the  MS. 
At  last  she  affixed  her  nom  de plume,  numbered 
the  pages,  and  folded  the  whole  for  transmis- 
sion. The  fire  was  still  bright;  and,  witli  no 
inclination  to  go  to  sleep,  she  replaced  the 
books  on  their  resjiective  shelves,  turned  up 
the  wick  of  the  lamj),  and  sat  down  close  to  the 
grate  to  warm  her  stilfene<l  fingers.  Oraduall  v 
lier  thoughts  wandered  from  the  completed 
task  to  other  themes  of  scarcely  less  interest. 
The  w«ek  previous  she  had  aecomjKiiiie<l 
Hugh  to  an  operatic  concert  given  by  the 
Paiodi  troupe,  and  had  been  astonished  to 
find  Uussell  seateil  on  the  bench  in  front  of 
her.  He  so  rarely  showed  himself  on  such 
occasions,  that  his  appearance  elicited  some 
comment.  They  liad  met  I'requently  since  the 
evening  at  Mr.  Mitchell's,  but  lie  pertiiui'-iously 
cavoided  recognizing  her;  and,  on  this  par- 
ticular night,  though  he  came  during  an  inter- 
lude to  speak  to  Grace  Harris,  who  sat  on  the 
same  row  of  seats  with  Irene,  he  never  oi\ce 
dire(;ted  his  eyes  toward  the  latter.  This 
studied  neglect,  she  felt  assured,  was  not  the 
result  of  the  bitter  animosity  existing  between 
her  father  and  himself;  an<l  though  it  puzzled 
her  for  a  while,  she  began  finally  to  suspect 
the  true  nature  of  his  feelings,  and,  with  wom- 
an's rarely  erring  instincts,  laid  her  linger  on 
the  real  motive  which  prompted  him.-  The 
report  of  his  engagement  to  Grace  had  reached 
her  some  days  .before,  and  now  it  recurred  to 
her  mind  like  a  haunting  spectre.  She  did 
not  believe  for  an  instant  that  he  was  attached 
to  the  pretty,  joyous  girl  whom  rumor  gave 
him  ;  but  she  was  w-tdl  aware  that  he  was  am- 
bitious of  high  social  position,  and  feared  tliat 
ho  might  possibly,  from  selfish,  ignoble  reasons, 
seek  an  alliance  with  Judge  Harris'  only 
daughter,  knowing  that  the  family  Avas  one  of 
the  wealthiest  and  most  aristocratic  in  the 
state.    She  recollected,  with  unutterable  scorn, 


MACARIA. 


Ill 


the  frequent  sneers  at  hia  blind  motlier,  in 
/  which  Grace,  Charlie,  and  even  Mrs.  Harris 
had  indulged  in  the  season  of  trial'  and  ad- 
■  versity ;  and,  pondering  all  that  she  had  silently 
-  endured  because  of  her  sympathy  with  him 
and  his  mother,  a  feeling  of  bitterness,  hereto- 
fore unknown,  rose  in  her  heart.  True,  im- 
passable barriers  divided  them;  but  she  could 
not  endure  the  thought  of  Iiis  wedding  another 
— it  tortured  her  beyOnd  all  expression.  With 
a  suffocating  sensation  she  unfastened  the 
cameo  pin  that  held  her  robe  de  chamhre  at 
the  throat,  and  threw  back  the  collar.  Taking 
out  her  con\b,  she  shook  down  her  hair, 
gathered, it  up  in  her  hands,  and  tossed  it  over 
the  back  of  her  chair,  whence  it  fell  tjO  the 
tloor,  coiling  there  in  glittering  rings.  Life 
had  seemed  dreary  enough  betbre ;  but^with 
this  apprehension  added,  it  appeai-ed  insup- 
portable, and  she  was  conscious  of  a  degree  of 
wretchedness  never  dreamed  of  or  realized 
heretofor(!.  Not  even  a  sigh  escaj»ed  her ;  she 
was  one  of  a  few  women  who  permit  no  ex- 
ternal evidences  of  suffering,  but  lock  it  secure- 
ly in  tlieir  own  proud  hearts,  and  in  silence 
and  loneliness  go  down  into  the  "ghoul-haunt- 
ed," darkened  chambers  to  brood  over  it,  as 
did  the  Portuguese  monarch  the  mouhlering 
remains  of  his  murdered  wife.  The  painful 
reverie  migiit,  perhaps,  have  lasted  till  the 
pallid  dawn  looked  in  with  tearful  eyes  at  the 
window,  but  Paragon,  who  was  sleeping  on 
the  rug  at  her  feet,  started  up  and  growled. 
She  raised  her  head  and  listened,  but  only  the 
ticking  of  the  clock  was  audible,  and  tlie  wail- 
ing of  the  wind  through  the  leafless  poplars. 

"  Down,  Paragon  !  hush,  sir!" 

She  patted  his  head  soothingly,  and  he  sank 
back  a  few  seconds  in  quiet,  then  sprang  up 
with  a  loud  bark.  This  time  she  lieard  an 
indistinct  sound  of  steps  in  the  hall,  and 
thought :  "  Nellie  sees  my  light  through  the 
window,  and  is  coming  to  coax  me  up  stairs." 
Something  stumbled  near  the  threshold,  a 
liand  struck  tlie  knob  as  if  in  hunting  for  it, 
the  door  opened  softly,  and,  muflled  in  his 
heavy  cloak,  holding  his  hat  in  one  hand,  Rus- 
sell Aubrey  stood  in  the  room.  Neither  spoke, 
but  he  looked  at  her  with  such  mournful  earn- 
estness, such  eager  yet  grieved  compassion, 
that  she  read  some  terrible  disaster  in  his  eyes. 
The  years  of  estrangei^ient,  all  that  had  pass- 
ed since  their  childhood,  was  forgotten ;  studied 
conventionalities  fell  away  at  sight  of  him 
standing;  there,  for  the  first  time,  in  her  home. 
She  crossed  the  room  with  a  quick,  uncertain 
step,  anil  put  out  her  hands  toward  him  — 
vague,  horrible  apprehension  blanching  the 
beautiful  lips,  which  asksd,  shiveringly: 
,     "  What  is  it,  Russell  V  what  is  it  '<" 

He  took  the  cold  littie  hands  tremblingly  in 
his,  and  endeavored  to  draw  her  back  to  the 
hearth,  but  she  repeated  : 

"  What  has  happened  ?  Is  it  father,  or 
Hugh  V" 


"  Your  father  is  well,  I  believe ;  I  passed 
him  on  the  road  }*esterday.  Sit  down,  Miss 
Huntingdon  ;  you  look  pale  and  faint." 

Her  fingers  closed  tightly  over  1^|||  he  saw 
an  ashen  hue  settle  on  her  face,  and,  in  an  un- 
naturally calm,  low  tone,  she  asked  : 

"  Is  Hugh  dead  ?  Oh,  my  God  !  why  don't 
ydu  speak,  Russell  ?" 

"  He  did  not  suffer  much;  his  death  was  too 
sudden." 

Her  face  had  such  a  stony  look  that  he 
would  have  passed  his  arm  around  her,  but 
could  not  disengage  his  hand;  she  seemed  to 
cling  to  it  as  if  for  strength. 

"  Won't  you  let  me  carry  you  to  your  room, 
or  call  a  servant  ?    You  are  not  able  to  stand." 

She  neither  heeded  nor  heard  him. 

"  Was  it  tiiat  horse ;  or  how  was  it  ?" 

"  One  of  the  bridges  had  been  swept  away 
by  the  freshet,,  and,  in  trying  to  cross,  he 
missed  the  ford.  The  horse  must  have  been 
frightened  and  unmanageable,  the  buggy  was 
overturned  in  the  creek,  and  your  cousin, 
stunned  by  the  fall,  drowned  instantly;  life 
was  just  extinct  when  I  reached  liim." 

Something  like  a  moan  escaped  her,  as  she 
listened. 

"  Was  anything  done  ?" 

"  We  tried  every  means  of  resuscitation, 
but  they  were  entirely  ineffectual." 

She  relaxed  her  clasp  of  his  fingers,  and 
moved  toward  the  door. , 

"  Where  are  you  going,  Miss  Huntingdon  ? 
Indeed  you  must  sit  down." 

"Russell,  you  have  brought  him  home; 
where  is  he  V" 

Without  waiting  for  an  answer,  she  walked 
down  the  hall,  and  paused  suddenly  ;U,  sight  of 
the  still  form  resting  on  a  gray  travelling- 
blanket,  with  a  lantern  at  its  head,  and  an 
elderly  man,  a  stranger,  sitting  near,  keeping 
watch.  Russell  came  to  her  side,  and,  draw- 
ing his  arm  around  her,  made  her  lean  upon 
him.  He  felt  the  long,  long  lingering  shudder  ,•  .„ 
which  shook  the  eleirant,  queenly  figure  ;  then 
she  slipped  down  beside  the  rigid  sleeker,  and 
smoothed  back  from  the  fair  brow  the  drip- 
pling  curling  auburn  hair.  : 

"  Hugh,  my  cousin  !  my  playmate  !  Snatch- 
ed away  in  an  hour  from  the  life  you  loved  so 
well.  Ah  !  the  curse  of  our  house  has  fallen 
upon  you.  It  is  but  the  beginning  of  the  end. 
Only  two  of  us  are  left,  and  we,  too,  shall  soon 
^e  caught  up  to  join  you." 

She  kissed  the  icy  lips  which  a  few  hours 
betbre  had  pressed  hers  so  warmly,  and,  rising, 
walked  up  and  down  the  long  hall.  Russdl 
leaned  against  the  wall,  with  liis  arms  crossed 
over  his  chest  and  his  head  bent  low,  %vaiting 
for  her  to  speak  again.  But,  calm  and  tear- 
less, she  walked  on  and  on,  in  profound  si- 
lence, till  he  grew  restless  at  ihe/ttrange  sound 
of  her  hair  trailing  along  the  oil-cloth,  and 
once  more  approacfied  her. 

"  Are  you  entirely  alone  ?" 


112 


MACARIA 


*'  Yes,  except  the  servants.  Oh,  Ilussoll !  i 
how  am  I  to  break  this  to  my  lather?  lie  } 
loves  thaL^boy  better  thaft  everything  else  ;  I 
infinitely  wJter  than  he  ever  loved  me.  IIow  1 
ihall  I  tell  him  that  Hugh  is  dead — dead  '<"      \ 

"  A  messenger  has  already  gone  to  inform  1 
him  of  what  lias  happened,  and  this  distress-  \ 
ing  task  will  not  be  yours.  Herbert  Blaek-  j 
well  and  I  were  riding  together,  on  our  return  [ 

from  T ,  when  we  reached  the  lord  where  ' 

the  disaster  oceurred.  Finding  that  all  our  \ 
efibri8  to  resuscitate  wqre  useless,  he  turnetl  i 
back,  and  went  to  your  father's  plantation  to  <. 
break  the  sad  intelligence  to  him."  | 

His    soothing,  tender   tone    touched    some 
chord  deep  in  her  strange  nature,  and  lAished  j 
tears  gathered  lor  the  lirst  time  in  her  eyes.      i 

"  As  you  have  no  friend  near  enough  to  call 
npon  at  present,  1  will,  if  you  detire  it,  wake 
the  servants,  remain,  and  Uo  all  that  is  neces- 
sary until  morning." 

"  If  you  please,  ilussell;  I  shall  thank  you 
very  much." 

As  her  glance  fell  upon  her  cousin's  gleam- 
ing   face,  h^   lip    fluttered,  and   she    turned  \ 
away  and  sat  down  on  one  of  the  sofas  in  the  i 
parlor,  dropping  her  face   in  her  hands.     A  | 
little  while  alter,  the  light -of  a  candle  stream-  j 
ed  in,  and  Kussell  came  with  a  cushion  from 
the  library  lounge,  and  his  warm  cloak.     He  ; 
wrapped  the  latur  carefully  about  the  droop-  ! 
ing  lorm,  and  would  have  placed  her  head  on  i 
the  silkeA  pillow,  but  she  silently  resisted  with- 
out looking  up,  and  he  left  her.     It  was  a  vigil  ; 
which  she  never  Ibrgot;  the  slow  hours  crush-  ' 
ed  her  as  they  rolled,  the  very  atmosphere  . 
seemed   filled  with   the  curse  which   brooded 
inexorably  over  the  ancient-house,  and  when,  i 
at  last,  the  eastern  sky  blanched,  and  the  wan  I 
forehead  of  the  day  lifted  itself  sadly  up,  it  i 
•cemed,  indeed,  as  if — 

"The  dim  red  murn  had  died,  faor  Journey  done,  , 

And  with  duud  lip«  smilud  ut  tliu  t»  ili^i't  I'lain, 

Ulill'-rullllU  tlCI'Oltlt  lUU   lUl'H^llUld  Ul    llili  kllU, 

iHuvur  tu  rise  ii^ain." 

Shaking  ofl"  her  covering,  Irene  passed  into  | 
the  greeti-house,  and  broke  clusters  of  jasmine  I 
and  .spicy  geraniuiu  leaves,  and,  thus  engaged, 
her  glance  fell  upon  the  daahed  cameiia  pet- 
als which  Hugh  had  ruined  so  recklessly  the  , 
previous  evening.      They  seemed  fitting  sym- 
bols, as  they  lay  iu   withering  heaps,  ol  the  • 
exuberant  life  so  suddenly  cut  short — the  gay,  i 
throbbing  heart  so  unexpectedly  utilled.  ^ 

"     *        •         •     Life  itrtick  iliarp  ou  death, 
Makes  awful  ligLituiug." 

And  she  lelt  a  keen  pang  at  sight  of  hi«  cam- 
bric handkerchief,  which  had  been  dropped 
unconsciously  between  two  branching  luch- 
8ias.  As  she  stooped  and  picke4  it  up,  his 
name  stared  at  her,  and  the  soft  folds  gave  out 
the  powerful  breath  of  bergamot,  of  which  he 
was  particularly  fond.  She  turned  away  from 
the  wealth  of  beauty  that  mocked  her  sorrow, 
and  walked  on  to  the  library. 


The  fire  had  died  out  cntiroly,  the  curtains 
were  drawn  back  to  let  in  the  day,  on  the  library 
table  the  startling  glare  of  white  linen  showed 
the  outlines  of  the  cold  young  sleeper,  and 
liu.ssell  slowly  jwiced  the  Hoor,  his  arms  crossocl, 
as  was  their  habit,  and  his  powerful  form  un- 
weariedly  erect.  She  stood  by  the  table,  half- 
irresolute,  then  folded  down  the  sheet,  and 
exposed  the  handsome,  untroubled  face.  Sh« 
studied  it  loni;  and  ijiiietly,  and  with  no  burst 
of  emotion  laid  her  tlowcrs  against  his  cheek 
and  mouth,  and  scattered  the  geraniums  over 
his  pulseless  heart. 

"  i  begged  him  not  to  start  yesterday,  and 
he  answered  that  he  wotild  go,  if  the  stars  fell 
and  judgment  day  overtook  hiin.  Sometimes 
we  arc  prophets  unawares.  His  star  has  set — 
his  d;^'  has  risen!  Have  mercy  on  his  soul! 
oh,  my  (iod  !" 

The  voice  was  low  and  even,  but  wonder- 
fully sweet,  and  in  the  solemn  morning  light 
her  face  showed  itself  gray  and  bloodless ;  no 
stain  of  color  on  the  still  lips,  only  the  blue 
cord  standing  out  between  the  brows,  sure 
signet  of  a  deep  distress  which  found  no  vent. 
Russell  felt  a  crushing  weight  litled  from  his 
heart;  he  saw  that  she  had  *'  loved  her  cousin, 
cousinly — no  more;"  and  his  face  llushed  when 
she  looked  across  the  table  at-liim,  with  grate- 
ful but  indescribably  melancholy  eyes,  which 
had  never  been  closed  during  that  night  of 
horror. 

"  I  have  come  to  relieve  you,  Russell,  from 
your  friendly  watch.  Few  would  have  act- 
ed as  you  have  done,  and  for  all  your  generous 
kindness  to  poor  Hugh  1  thank  you  most  earn- 
estly, as  well  for  my  father  as  myself.  Tha 
day  may  come,  perhaps,  when  I  shall  be  able 
to  prove  my  gratitude,  and  the  sincerity  of 
ray  friend.ship,  which  has  never  wavered  since 
we  were  children  together.  Until  that  day, 
farewell,  Russell ;  but  believe  that  I  rejoice  to 
hear  of  your  successes." 

She  held  out  her  hand,  and,  as  he  took  it  in 
his,  which  trembled  violently,  he  felt,  even 
then,  that  there  was  no  (juiver  in  the  icy 
white  fingers,  and  that  his  name  rippled  over 
her  lips  as  calmly  as  that  of  the  dead  ha<i  dona 
just  belbre.  She  endured  his  long,  searching 
gaze,  like  any  other  I^fiobe,  and  he  dropped 
the  little  pearly  hand  and  quitted  the  room. 
She  heard  his  i|uick  step  ring  changes  down 
the  long  hall  and  stony  steps,  and,  when  all 
was  still  again,  she  knelt  beside  the  table,  and 
crossing  her  arms  over  it,  bowed  her  fao«  upon 
them.  Now  and  then  the  servants  looked  in, 
but  crept  away  awed,  closing  the  door  stealthi- 
ly ;  and  as  the  day  advanced,  and  the  news  ot 
what  had  happened  flew  through  the  town, 
friends  came  to  oH'er  as."!istance  and  condolcnce- 
But  none  dared  disturb  or  address  the  kneel- 
ing figure,  veiled  by  waving  hair,  and  giving 
no  more  sign  of  life  than  the  form  before  her. 
At  ten  o'clock  Mr.  Huntingdon  returned,  and, 
with  his  hat  drawn  over  his  eyes,  went  straight 


MACABJA. 


118 


to  tbe  library.  lie  kissed  the  face  of  the  dead 
,  passionate!}',  and  his  sob  and  violent  burst  of 
Borrow  told  his  child  of  his  arrival.  She  lift- 
ed her  rigid  face,  and  extended  her  arms, 
pleadinLrly. 

"  Fatlier !  father !  here,  at  least,  you  -will 
forgive  me !" 

He  turned  from  her  sternly,  and  answered, 
with  bitter  emphasis : 

*'I  will  not!  But  for  you,  he  would  have 
been  diflerent,  and  this  would  never  have 
happened." 

"  Father,  I  have  asked  for  love  and  pardon 
for  the  last  time.  Perhaps,  when  you  stand 
over  my  dead  body,  you  may  remember  that 
you  had  a  child  who  had  a  right  to  your  affec- 
tion. God  knows,  if  it  were  possible,  I  would 
pladlj-  lay  my  weary  head  down  to  rest,  here 
on  Hugh's  bier,  and  give  him  back  to  your 
arms.  Life  is  not  so  sweet  to  me  that  I  would 
not  yield  it  up  to-day  without  a  murmur." 

She  bent  down  and  kissed  her  cousin,  and, 
with  a  hard,  bitter  expression  in  her  coun- 
tenance, went  up  to  her  own  room,  locking 
out  Paragon  and  old  Nellie,  who  followed 
cautiousl}'  at  her  heels. 

*' For  tbo  drill  of  tbn  Muker  is  dark,  an  Isis  hid  by  the 
Tail. 
Who  knowK  the  ways  of  the  world,  how  God  will  bring 
tb«m  «bout  ?" 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

"  Where  are  you  going.  Irene  ?" 

*'  Only  to  the  Factory-row." 

"  For  what,  I  should  like  to  know  ?" 

"  To  8ce  Bessie  Davis,  who  has  been  very 
ill." 

•'  Fiddle-stick !  I  want  the  carriage  myself. 
I  promised  to  send  down  to  the  hotel  for  Judge 
Peterson,  who  is  coming  to  spend  the  night 
here." 

'•  Of  course,  father,  if  you  want  Andrew,  I 
do  notr  wish  to  interfere  with  your  arrange- 
ments. I  did  not  know  that  you  intended  to 
use  the  carriage.  John,  tell  Andrew  to  drive 
the  horses  back  to  the  stable-yard  until  called 
for,  and  have  Erebus  saddled  at  once.  Un- 
pack that  flat  basket  I  left  on  the  pantry-sheU, 
and  put  the  things  into  one  with  a  handle,  that 
I  can  carry  in  my  hand.  The  egg-basket  will 
do  very  well ;  it  has  a  cover." 

She  went  to  h^  room,  changed  her  dress 
for  her  riding  -  habit,  and  came  down  to  the 
front  door,  wliere  her  father  sat  smoking. 

"  What  arc  you  going  to  do  with  that  bas- 
ket?    Erebus  won't  sulfcr  you  to  carry  it." 

*'  Yes,  sir;  he  will  suffer  just  what  I  please 
to  take.  I  hare  a  bottle  of  wine,  some  jelly, 
and  some  light  bread,  for  poor  Mrs.  Davis.' 

"  What  sort  of  wine  ?" 

*'  Not  your  high-priced  sherry  or  port,  but 
m  pint  bottle  of  madeira.     Tighten  that  girth 
for  me,  Andrew,  if  you  please ;  the  saddle  turn- 
ed the  last  time  1  rode." 
8 


"I'll  bet  that  you  will  let  that  basket  fall 
before  you  get  to  the  gate,  and  lose  every  drop 
in  it.     It  is  all  nonsense  !  sheer  nonsense  !" 

She  made  no  reply,  but  mounted  the  beau- 
tiful spirited  animal,  who  arched  his  neck  and 
curveted  at  sight  of  the  basket.  Patting  his 
mane  soothingly,  she  hung  the  basket  securely 
on  the  pommel  of  the  saddle,  and  rode  off. 

"  lie  is  wilder  to-day  than  he  was  whea  I 
first  bought  him;  he  will  break  her  neck  yet, 
I  have  n't  a  doubt,"  muttyred  Mr.  Huntingdon, 
looking  after  her. 

"  No  he  won't,  master ;  she  can  tame  kjra 
down  any  minute.  Last  week  she  wanted  to 
ride,  but  he  had  got  out  into  the  creek  pas- 
ture, ami  I  could  n't  catch  him.  I  raced  him 
for  a  half- hour  up  and  down,  and  could  n't 
come  near  him;  I  tried  him  with  corn  and  fod- 
der, but  he  ran  like  a  deer.  I  give  it  up,  sir, 
and  told  Miss  Irene  he  was  in  one  of  his  tan- 
trums, and  I  could  do  nothing  with  him.  She 
just  put  on  her  hat  and  walked  over  to  the 
pasture,  and  the  minute  he  saw  her  coming  he 
neighed  two  or  three  times,  and,  before  I  co«ld 
get  to  her,  she  had  her  hand  on  his  mane,  pat- 
tmg  him,  and  he  was  rubbing  his  head  against 
her.  Miss  Irene  can  tame  anything  in  this 
world,  she  has  such  a  steady,  conquering  look 
in  her  eyes." 

Such  were  Andrew's  reassuring  words, as, 
with  his  hat  on  the  back  of  his  head,  and  both 
hands  thrust  into  his  deep  pockets,  he  stood 
watching  his  young  mistress,  until  a  turn  in 
the  road  obscured  both  horse  and  rider,  thea 
walked  back  to  the  stable. 

It  was  a  cold  afternoon  in  November — 

"And  Autumn,  laying  here  nnd  thoro 
A  tiory  fingur  on  the  loaves," 

had  kindled  her  forest  conflagration.  Golden 
maples  and  amber-hued  cherrie-s,  crimson  dog- 
woods and  scarlet  oaks  shook  out  their  flame- 
foliage  and  waved  their  glowing  boughs,  all 
dashed  and  speckled,  flecked  and  rimmed  with 
orange  and  blood,  ghastly  green,  and  tawny 
brown.  Tiie  hectic  spot  burned  everywhere, 
save  on  the  solemn  sombre  pines  that  lifted 
themselves  defiantly  far  above  the  fevered  re- 
gion of  decay.  Royal  clusters  of  golden-rod 
were  blackened  and  seared  by  the  lijis  of  an 
early  Irost,  and  pallid  starry  asters  shivered 
and  dropped  their  faded  petals  as  the  wind 
bowed  iheir  fragile  heads.  The  smoky  atmos- 
phere, which  had  hung  all  day  in  purple  folds 
around  the  distant  hills,  took  a  golden  haze  as 
the  sun  sank  rapidly ;  and  to  Irene's  gaze 
river  and  wood-land,  hill-side  and  valley,  were 
brimmed  with  that  weird  "  light  which  never 
was  on  sea  or  land."  Her  almost  "  Brahmin i- 
cal  "  love  of  nature  had  grown  with  her  years, 
but  a  holier  element  mingled  with  her  adora- 
tion now;  she  looked  beyond  the  material  vyil 
of  beauty,  and  bowed  reverently  before  the 
indwelling  Spiritual  Presence.  Only  duriu;: 
thcs«  silent  hours  of  communion  aflbrded  by 


114 


MACARIA. 


her  solitary  riiles  was  the  shadow  lifted  from 
her  heart,  and  at  ?uch  times  immemorial  Cy- 
bele's  iiiifrrs,  soft  and  warm,  touclied  the  still 
tace,  and  the  icy  lines  melted.  Sin^e  Husjh's 
deatli,  nearly  a  year  before,  fhe  had  become  a 
recluse,  availing  herself  of  her  mourning 
dross  to  derlinc  all  social  engagements,  and 
during  these  months  a  narrow  path  opened 
before  her  feet,  she  became  a  member  of  the 
church  which  she  had  aitiMided  frpui  infancy, 
and  her  hands  closed  firmly  over  her  life-work. 
The  ballling  Sphinx  that  had  so  long  vexed 
her  sat  no  more  at  the  cross-roads  of  her  ex-  ' 
irt<*nce;  she  found  an  CEdipus  in  the  far  more  I 
than  cabalistic  words : 


"Thy  palh  i*  i>l.xin  And  straight,  that  light  ii  given. 
Ouwanl  ill  faitb  !  and  Uave  the  rent  tu  heHVeli." 

Sorrow    and    want   hung   out    their    signs 

among  the  poor  of  W ,  and  here,  silently, 

but  niethoihcally,  she  had  become,  not  a  niin- 
iatering  angel  certainly,  but  a  generous  bene- 
factrchs,  a  noble,  sympathetic  friend — a  coun- 
•ellor  whose  strong  gooil  sense  rendered  her 
advice  and  guidance  valuable,  indeed.  By  a 
system  of  rigid  economy  she  was  enabled  to 
set  apart  a  small  portion  of  money,  which  she 
gave  judiciously,  superintending  its  invest- 
ment; kind,  hopeful  wonls  she  scattered  like 
sunshine  over  every  threshold;  and  here  and 
there,  where  she  detected  smouldering  aspira- 
tion, or  incipient  appreciation  of  learning,  she 
fanned  the  spark  with  some  suitable  volume 
from  her  own  library,  which,  in  more  than  one 
instance,  became  the  germ,  the  spring  of  "  a 
joy  for  ever."  Frequently  her  father  threw 
obstacles  in  her  way,  sneering  all  the  while  at 
her  "  sanctimonious  freaks."  Sometimes  she 
affected  not  to  notice  the  impediments,  some- 
times frankly  acknowledged  their  magnitude, 
and  climbed  right  over  them,  on  to  her  work. 
Among  the  factory  operatives  she  found  the 
gi-ealest  newl  of  ameliorating  touches  of  every 
.•  kind.  Improvident,  illiterate,  in  some  cases 
almost  brutalized,  she  occasionally  found  her- 
self puzzled  as  to  the  proper  plan  to  pursue; 
but  her  womanly  heart,  like  the  hidden  jew- 
elled levers  of  a  watch,  guided  the  womanly 
hands  unerringly. 

This  evening,  as  she  approached  the  row  of 
low  white-washed  houses,  a  crowd  of  children 
swarmed  out,  as  usual,  to  stare  at  her.  Slie 
rode  up  to  a  door-step  where  a  boy  of  some 
fourteen  years  sat  sunning  himself,  with  an 
open  book  on  his  knee  and  a  pair  of  crutches 
bcbitle  him.  At  sight  oi  her  a  bright  smile 
broke  over  his  sickly  face,  and  he  tried  to 
rise. 

"  Good-evening,  Philip  ;  don't  get  up.  How 
are  you  to-day  V" 

"  Better,  I  thank  you,  ma'm  ;  but  viry  stiff 

"  The  stiffness  will  pass  off  gradually,  I 
hope.  I  see  you  have  not  finished  your  book 
yet;  how  do  you  like  it  V" 


"  Oh  !  I  could  bear  to  be  a  cripple  always, 
if  I  had  plenty  like  it  to  read."  • 

"  You  need  not  be  a  cripple^  but  there  are 
plenty  more,  just  as  good  and  better,  which 
you  shall  have  in  time.  Do  you  thit-k  you 
could  hold  my  horse  for  me  a  little  whde?  I  ^ 
can't  find  a  suitable  place  to  tie  him.  He  M 
gentle  enough  if  you  will  only  hold  the  reins." 

"Certainly,  ma'm;  I  shall  be  glad  to  hold 
him  as  long  as  you  like." 

She  dismounted,  and,  taking  her  basket, 
placed  the  bridle  in  the  boy's  hand,  saying  en- 
couragingly, as  Erebus  put  up  his  ears  and 
looked  vicious : 

"  Don't  be  afraid  of  him.  Speak  to  him 
quietly  if  he  gets  restless,  and  if  you  can't 
keep  him -in  order,  call  me;  I  am  going  in  next 
dour." 

He  smiled  assent,  wrapped  the  bridle  round 
his  wrist,  and  returned  eagerly  to  his  trcnsurti, 
Sininis'  "  Life  of  Nathaniel  Green,"  while 
Irene  passed  into  the  adjoining  house,  ^omo 
sick-roomS  are  inviting,  from  the  costly  di.splaj 
of  marble,  rosewood,  velvet,  and  silver,  from 
the  tasteful  arrangement  of  books  and  flowers, 
from  the  air  of  delicacy  and  atlectionate  con- 
sideration which  pervades  them.  But  those 
where  poverty  stands  grim  and  gaunt  on  the 
hearth  are  rarely  enticing,  and  to  this  dreary 
class  belonged  the  room  whore  Bessie  Davis 
had  sulVered  for  months,  watching  the  sands  of 
lite  run  low,  and  the  shadow  of  death  growing 
longer  across  the  threshold  day  by  day.  The 
dust  and  lint  of  the  cotton-room  had  choked 
the  springs  of  life,  and  on  her  hollow  cheeks 
glowed  the  autograph  of  consuniptit>n.  She 
stretched  out  her  wasted  hand,  and  .said  : 

"Ah,  Miss  Irene!  I  heard  your  voice  out- 
side, and  it  was  pleasant  to  my  ears  as  the 
sound  of  the  bell  when  work-hours  arc  over. 
I  am  always  glad  to  see  your  face,  but  this 
.evening  I  was  longing  for  you,  hoj)ing  and 
praying  that  you  would  come.  I  am  in 
trouble." 

"  About  what,  Mrs.  Davis  ?  Nothing  seri- 
ous, I  hope  ;  tell  me." 

"  I  don't  know  how  serious  it  is  going  to  bo. 
Johnnie  is  sick  in  the  next  room,  taken  yes 
terday;  and,  about  noon  to-day,  Susan  had  to 
knock  off  work  and  come  home.  Hester  is  the 
only  one  left,  and  you  know  she  is  but  a  baby 
to  work.  I  don't  like  to  complain  of  my  lot, 
God  knows,  but  it  seems  hard  if  we  are  all  to 
be  taken  down." 

"  I  hope  they  will  not  be  sick  long.  What 
is  the  matter  with  Johnnie  ?" 

"  Dear  knows!  I  am  sure  I  don't;  he  com- 
plains of  the  headache  and  has  fever,  and 
Susan  here  seems  ailing  the  same  way.  She 
is  as  stupid  as  can  be — sleeps  all  the  time.  My 
children  have  had  measles,  and  whooping- 
cough,  and  chicken-pox,  and  scarlet  fever,  and 
I  can't  imagine  what  they  are  trying  to  catch 
now.  I  hear  that  there  is  a  deal  of  sickness 
showing  itself  in  the  row." 


MACARIA. 


Hi 


"  Have  you  sent  for  the  doctor  ?"  asked 
Irene,  walking  around  to  tlie  other  side  of  the 
bed,  and  examining  Susan's  pulse. 

"  Yes,  I  sent  Hester;  but  she  said  he  told 
her  lie  was  too  busy  to  eome." 

"  Why  did  you  not  apply  to  some  other 
physician  ?" 

"  Because  Dr.  Brandon  has  always  attended 
me,  and,  as  I  sent  for  him  first,  1  did  n't  know 
whether  any  other  doctor  would  like  to  come. 
You  know  some  of  them  have  very  curious 
notions  about  their  dignity." 

"  And  sometimes,  while  they  pause  to  dis- 
cuss etiquette,  humanity  suffers.  Susan,  let 
me  see  your  tongue.  Who  else  is  sick  in  the 
row,  Mrs.  Davis  V" 

"  Three  of  Tom  Brown's  children,  two  of 
Dick  Spencer's,  and  Lucy  Hall,  and  Mary 
Moorliead-  Miss  Irene,  will  you  be  good 
enough  to  give  me  a  drink  of  water  ?  Hester 
has  gone  to  try  to  find  some  wood,  and  I  can't 
reach  the  pitcher.  " 

"  1  brought  you  some  jelly  ;  would  you  like 
a  little  now,  or  shall  I  put  it  away  in  the 
closet  ?  " 

"  Thank  you ;  I  will  save  it  for  my  Johnnie, 
he  is  so  fond  of  sweet  things;  and,  poor  child  ! 
he  sees  'em  so  seldom  now-a-day." 

"  There  is  enough  for  you  and  Johnnie  too. 
Eat  this,  while  1  look  after  him,  and  see 
whether  he  ought  to  have  any  this  evening.'' 

She  placed  a  saucer  filled  with  the  tempt- 
ing amber- hued  delicacy  on  the  little  pine 
table  be.side  the  bed,  and  went  into  the  next 
room.  The  boy,  who  looked  about  seven  or 
eight  years  old,  lay  on  a  pallet  in  one  corner, 
restless  and  fretful,  his  cheeks  burning,  and 
his  large  brown  eyes  sparkling  with  fever. 

"  J-hnnie,  boy  !.  what  is  the  matter  ?  Tell 
me  wliat  hurts  you  V" 

"  My  liead  aches  so  badly,"  and  tears  came 
to  the  beautiful  childish  eyes. 

"  It  feels  hot.  Would  you  like  to  have  it 
bathed  in  cold  water':*" 

"  If  you  please,  ma'm.  I  have  been  calling 
Ucttie,  and  she  won't  hear." 

"  Because  she  has  gone  out.  Let  me  see  if 
I  can't  do  it  just  as  well  as  Hettie." 

She  hunted  about  the  room  for  a  cloth,  but, 
finding  nothing  suitable,  took  her  cambric 
handkerchief,  and,  after  laving  his  forehead 
gently  for  ten  or  fifteen  minutes,  laid  the  wet 
Iblds  upon  it,  and  asked,  smilingly  : 

"  Does  n't  that  feel  pleasant  "r"' 

"Ever  BO  nice,  ma'm  —  if  1  had  some  to 
drink." 

She  put  the  dripping  gourd  to  his  parched 
lips,  and,  after  shaking  up  his  pillow  and 
■Ixaigiitcning  the  covering  of  his  pallet,  she 
promised  to  see  him  again  soon,  and  returned 
to  his  mother. 

"  How  does  he  appear  to  be,  Miss  Irene  ? 
I  had  him  moved  out  of  this  room  because  he 
•aid  my  coughing  hurt  his  head,  and  his  con- 
tinual  fretting  worried  me.     I  am  so  weak 


now,  God  help  me !"  and  she  covered  her  eyes 
with  one  hand. 

"  He  has  somfe  fever,  Mrs.  Davis,  but  not 
more  than  Susan.  I  will  ask  Dr.  Arnold  to 
come  and  see  them  this  evening.  This  change 
in  the  weather  is  very  well  calculated  to  make 
sickness.     Are  you  entirely  out  of  wood  ?" 

"  Very  nearly,  ma'm,  a  few  sticks  left." 

"  When  Hester  comes,  keep  her  at  home. 
I  will  send  you  some  wood.  And  now,  how 
are  you  ?" 

"  My  cough  is  not  quite  so  bad ;  the  pectoral 
holds  it  a  little  in  check ;  but  I  had  another 
hemorrhage  last  night,  and  I  atn  growing 
weaker  every  day.  Oh,  Miss  Irene  !  what 
will  become  of  my  poor  little  children  when  I 
am  gone?  That  is  such  an  agonizing  thought." 
She  sobbed  as  she  spoke. 

"  Do  not  let  that  grieve  you  now.  I  promise 
you  that  your  children  shall  be  taken  care  of. 
I  will  send  a  servant  down  to  stay  here  to- 
night, and  perhaps  some  of  the  women  in  the 
row  will  be  willing  to  come  in  occasionally 
and  help  Hester  till  Susan  gets  able  to  cook. 
I  left,  two  loaves  of  bread  in  the  closet,  and 
will  send  more  in  the  morning,  which  Hester 
can  toast.  I  shall  go  by  town,  and  send  Dr. 
Arnold  out" 

"  I  would  rather  have  Dr.  Brandon,  if  you 
please." 

^i  Why  ?" 

"  I  have  always  heard  that  Dr.  Arnold  wa« 
so  gruff  and  unfeeling,  that  I  am  afraid  of  him. 
I  hate  to  be  snapped  up  when  I  ask  a  ques- 
tion." 

"  That  is  a  great  mistake,  Mrs.  Davis.  Peo- 
ple do  him  injustice.  He  has  one  of  the  kindest, 
warmest  hearts  I  ever  knew,  though  sometimes 
he  is  rather  abrupt  iii  his  manner,  if  you 
prefer  it,  however,  I  will  see  your  doctor. 
Good-by;  I  will  coma  again  to-morrow." 

As  she  took  her  bridle  from  Philip's  hand, 
the  boy  looked  up  at  her  with  an  expression 
bordering  on  adoration. 

"  Thank  you,  Philip ;  how  did  he  behave  ?** 

"  Not  very  well ;  but  he  is  beautiful  enough 
to  make  up  for  his  wildness." 

"  That  is  bad  doctrine  ;  beauty  never  should 
e'xcuse  bad  behavior.  Is  your  mother  at 
home  V" 

"  No,  ma'm." 

"  When  she  comes,  ask  her  I  say  please  to 
step  in  now  and  then,  and  overlook  things  for 
Mrs.  Davis;  Susan  is^ick.  Philip,  if  it  is  not 
asking  too  much  of  you,  Johnnie  would  liko 
for  you  to  sit  by  him  till  his  little  sister  comes 
home,  and  wet  that  cloth  which  I  lefl  on  h'la 
j  head.     Will  you  ?" 

"  Indeed  I  will ;  I  am  very  glad  you  told  me. 
I  Certainly  I  will." 

"  I  thought  10.  Don't  talk  to  him  ;  let  him 
I  sleep  if  he  will.     Good-by." 

She  went  first  to  a  wood-yard  on  the  river, 
;  and  left  an  order  for  a  cord  of  wood  to  be  sent 
'  immediately  to  No.  13,  Factory -row;  then  took 


lie 


UACARIJL 


tbe  street  leadin;r  to  Dr.  Branflon's  office.  A 
norvant  sat  on  the  step  wliisllinrj  merrily, 
and,  in  answer  to  her  question,  lie  informed 
her  that  his  master  had  just  left  town,  to  be 
absent  two  days.  Slic  rode  on  for  a  few 
pquares,  doubling  her  veil  in  the  hope  of 
shrouding  her  features,  and  stopped  once 
more  in  front  of  the  door  where  stood  Dr. 
Aruoid's  bugnry." 

"  Cyrus,  is  the  doctor  in  his  office  ?" 

"  V»iS,  Mis.«  Irene." 

"  Hold  my  horse  for  me." 

She  gathered  the  folds  of  lier  riding-habit 
over  lit  T  arm,  and  wont  up  stairs.  Leaning 
far  bark  in  his  chair,  with  his  feet  on  the  fender 
of  the  grate,  sat  Dr.  Arnold,  watching  tjie 
blue  timoke  of  liis  meerschaum  curl  lazily  in 
faint  wrcallis  over  his  head;  and  as  she  enter- 
ed, a  look  of  pleasant  surprise  camo  instantly 
into  his  cold,  clear  eyes. 

"  Bless  me  I  Irene,  1  am  glad  to  see  you.  It 
is  many  a  day  since  you  have  shown  your  face 
here;  sit  down.  Now,  then,  what  is  to  pay  '/ 
You  are  in  trouble,  of  course  ;  you  never  think 
of  me  except  when  you  are.  Has  old  Nellie 
treated  herself  to  another  spdl  of  rheumatism, 
or  Paragon  broke  his  leg,  or  small-pox  broke 
out  aiivwherc;  or,  worse  than  all,  have  the 
hawks  taken  to  catching  your  pigeons?" 

"  None  of  these  catastrophes  has  overtaken 
me ;  but  I  come,  as  usual,  to  ai!c  a  favor.  If  you 
please,  I  want  you  to  go  up  to  the  Factory-row 
this  evening.  Airs.  Davis,  No.  13,  has  two 
children  very  sick,  I  am  afraid.  I  don't  like 
the  appearance  of  their  tongues." 

"  lluuiph  !  what  do  you  know  about  tongues, 
I  should  like  to  be  inibrmed  V" 

"How  to  use  my  own,  sir,  at  leaut,  when 
there  is  a  necessity  for  it.  They  are  what  you 
medical  savans  call  typhoid  tongues ;  and  from 
what  1  ht-ard  to-day,  1  am  afraid  there  will  be 
a  distressing  amount  of  sickness  among  the 
operatives.     Of  course  you  will  go,  .sir?" 

"  How' do  you  know  that  so  well  ?  Perhaps 
I  will,  and  perhaps  I  won't.  Nobody  ever  looks 
after  me,  or  cares  about  the  condition  of  my 
health;  I  don't  see  why  I  must  adopt  tli*; 
whole  human  race.  See  here,  my  child  !  do 
not  let  me  hear  of  you  at  the  How  again  soon  ; 
it  is  no  place  for  you,  my  lily.  Ten  to  One  it 
is  some  low,  miserable  typhuH  fever  showing 
itselt,  and  i  will  take  care  of  your  precious 
*  pets  only  on  condition  that  you  keep  away,  so 
that  1  shall  not  be  hauyted  with  the  dread  ot 
having  you,  also,  on  my  hands.  If  I  lay  eyes 
on  you  at  the  row,  1  swear  I  will  write  to 
I./eonard  to  chain  you  up  at  home.  Do  you 
LearV" 

"  I  shall  come  every  day,  I  promise  you 
that" 

*'  Oh !  you  are  ambitious  of  martyrdom  I  But 
typhus  fever  is  not  the  style,  Queen.  Ihere 
ie  neither  eclat  nor  glory  in  such  a  death." 

A  sad  smile  curved  her  mouth,  aa  she  an- 
rwered,  slowly : 


I      *'  Indeed  you  wrong  me,  Doe-tor.     I  am  not 
'  ready  to  die ;  1  am  not  fit  for  eternity  ;  my 
work  has  but  begun." 

*'  Why  do  you   think  so,  my  dear  child  ? 
'  What  sin  have  vou  ever  committed  ?" 
I      "  Sins  of  omission,  sir,  foot  up  as  heavily  as 
'  those  of  commission."  ' 

i  '•  Don't  tread  upon  my  Antinoniianistic  toes, 
if  you  please !  they  are  tender.  Whereiq 
have  you  failed  to  do  your  duty  ?" 

"  Goil,  and  my  own  soul,  only  sit  in  assix* 
upon  my  derelictions." 

"  Irene,  I  have  watched  you  for  years  with 
hungry,  eager  eyes;  and  of  late  I  have  follow- 
ed you  in  your  rounds  among  the  poor.  You 
are  inaugurating  a  new  system  ;  the  fashion  is, 
to  organize  societies,  I'ame  in  print  as  oflicer, 
president,  treasurer,  as  the  case  may  1*1%  and 
l)la<.ard  the  members  and  purposes  of  iKe  or- 
ganization. Left  hand  industriously  puffi 
what  right  hand  doeth.  Is  it  not  so  ?  One  of 
your  own  sex,  the  greatest,  strongest,  noblest 
of  your  learned  women  singers,  pithily  t«lU 
you: 

"  Tlioic  '»  too  much  abstract  willing,  purposing, 
In  this  poor  world.     We  tnlk  by  njiijn'gatc*, 

And  think  by  iiystcnii If  wu  piiij  at  all, 

AVo  pmy  no  longer  for  our  daily  bn-ad, 

But  next  centenary's  harvests.     If  we  gire, 

Our  c\ip  of  water  is  not  tendered  till 

Vfo  lay  down  pipes  and  found  a  company 

With  branches.  A  woman  can  not  do  tlio  thing  sh«  oogbl, 

Wliich  means  wliatyver  perfect  thing  ilitcau, 

In  life,  in  art,  in  science,  but  she  ftwu'S 

To  let  the  perfect  action  take  her  part 

And  rest  tliiTo :   she  must  proro  what  alio  can  do 

Jlofore  she  does  it — pnile  of  woman's  riglits, 

Of  woman's  miitsion,  woman's  function,  till 

The  men  (who  arc  prating,  too,  on  their  side)  cry— 

•  A  woman's  function  plainly  is — to  talk. 

Poor  Bonis,  they  are  very  reasonably  Taxed! 

Thoy  can  not  lienr  eacli  otber  speak. ' " 

"  I  tell  you,  Quocn,  I  have  watched  these  a»- 
sociations  all  my  life;  I  am  getting  old  now, 

i  ancl  I  am  as  completely  nauseated  with  their 
cant  and  phariseeism  aa  Macaulay  was  with 
that  of  the  sewnteenth  century  Puritans. 
Sclf-glorifKation  has  a  deal  of  influence  over 
our  modern  Dorcases." 

"  I  think,  sir,  that  you  are  unjust  in  some 
instances;  your  cynical  leiiies  distort  thtt 
facts.     Judiciously- conducted   charitable   so 

,  cieties  greatly  facilitate  matters,  by  system- 
atizing the  work  and  inducing  punctuality. 
I  grant  that  the  evil.i  you  speak  of  are  much 
to  be  deprecated  ;  and,  to  complete  your  own 
lengthy  quotation : 

"  I  'd  whisper — Soft,  my  sister  I  not  a  word  I 
l!y  speaking  we  proife  only  we  can  speak: 
Whicli  he,  the  man  hero,  never  doubted.     What 
lie  doubts  is,  whether  wo  can  do  the  thing 
With  dt<eut  grace,  we  'j%  not  yet  done  at  all: 
Now  doitl" 

"  Doctor,  I  wish  you  were  more  of  an  optim- 
ist." 

He  took  one  of  her  bands,  spread  out  the 
ivory  fingers  on  his  broad  palm,  and  said,  in  a 
lower  tone: 

"  My  Chaldean  priestess,  who  says  that  I  am 


MACARIA. 


IIT 


not  as  orthodox  on  optimism  as  Leibnitz  him- 
self? Don't  you  know  that  I  am  a  sort  of 
latter-day  troglodyte,  very  rarely  airing  my 
pet  creeds  for  the  benefit  of  the  public  ? 
That  was  a  wise  law  of  Solon's  which  declared 
'  every  man  infamous  who,  in  seditious  or  civil 
dissensions  of  the  state,  remained  neuter,  and 
refused  to  side  with  either  party ;'  but  I  do  not 
regard  it  as  expedient,  or  incumbent  upon  me, 
to  advertise  my  individual  status  on  all  ethical 
schisms.  What  is  it  to  the  public  whether  I 
endorse  *  Candide '  or  Leibnitz's  '  Theodi- 
cea?'" 

"  One  thiitg  I  certainly  do  know,  with  great 
regi'et,  that  your  seeming  austerity,  your 
roughness  of  manner,  renders  you  very  un- 

Eopular ;  whereas,  you  shoulil  be  universally 
eloved." 

"  Really !  have  I  become  a  bugbear  in  my 
old  age  ?" 

"  Not  that  exactly,  sir ;  but  I  wish,  if  it  were 
possible,  that  you  would  not  mask  your  really 
kind,  generous,  sympathizing  heart  by  such 
repellent,  abrupt  conduct  in  sick-rooms,  where 
people  expect  gentleness  and  consideration  on 
the  part  of  a  physician.  •  I  know  you  are  often 
annoyed  by  senseless  and  ridiculous  ques- 
tions; but  I  wish,  for  your  own  sake,  that  you 
could  be  a  little  more  patient  with  poor,  weak 
human  nature." 

"  Child,  I  am  not  gregarious  ;  never  was.  I 
•ouch  my  hat  to  the  world,  and  it  is  welcome 
to  think  just  what  it  chooses  of  me." 

"  -No,  sir ;  far  from  touching  your  hat,  you 
stand  aloof,  scowling  at  your  race,  smiling 
gfrimlj'  at  the  struggling,  drowning  men  and 
women  around  you,  as  if  we  were  not  all  one 
great  family,  designed  by  God  to  assist  and 
ftheer  each  other.     Every  man — " 

"  Pardon  me.  Queen  ;  but  I  am  not  one  of 
tiiose  deluded,  selt-complacent  human  beings 
who  actually  lay  the  'flattering  unction'  to 
their  souls  that  they  were  sfent  into  this  world 
for  some  particular  purpose — some  special  mis- 
rion.  I  want  you  distinctly  to  understand, 
child,  that  I  don't  consider  mysfclf  appointed 
to  any  work  but  that  of  attending  to  my  own 
aflairs  and  taking  care  of  myself." 

"  Then  you  admit  yourself  a  marred,  imper- 
fect block,  rejected  by  the  Divine  Architect  as 
nnwortliy  of  a  place  in  the  grand  social  tem- 
ple. God  clothed  you  wfth  human  affections 
and  sympathies  that,  in  accordance  with  the 
fundamental  law  of  social  existence,  you  might 
extend  a  helping  hand  to  your  fellow-crea- 
tures." 

He  moved  restlessly,  and  his  gray  shaggy 
brows  met  in  a  heavy  frown. 

"I  believe,  Irene,  I  am  entirely  innocent  of 
any  agrarian  or  socialistic  tendency." 

"  And  so.  I  trust,  am  L  But,  sir,  because  I 
abhor  Brook-Plfirjn,  I  will  not  take  refuge  in 
liie  cave  of  Trophonius." 

He  looked  up  at  her  with  one  of  his  steely, 
probing  glances,  then  the  brows  unbent,  and 


the  drew  her  hand  caressingly  across  his 
cheek. 

"  Well,  child,  we  won't  quarrel  over  my 
bearishness.  If  you  will  keep  that  hard,  frozen 
look  away  from  your  lisps,  and  smHe  now  and 
then  as  you  used  to  do  in  your  childhood 
when  I  held  you  on  my  knee,  I  will  promise  to 
try  and  unearth  myself,  to  seal  up  my  gnoma 
habitation,  and.,. buy  me  a  tub  which  I  can 
drag  after  me  into  the  sunlight.  Is  it  a 
bargain  ?" 

"  That  is  problematical.  Doctor.  But  it  is 
getting  late,  and  I  wish,  if  you  please,  you 
would  go  at  once  to  the  Row." 

"  Stop  !  if  any  good  is  accomplished  among 
those  semi-savages  up  yonder,  who  is  to  have 
the  credit.?     Tell  me  that." 

•'  God 'shall  have  the  thanks;  you  all  the 
credit  as  the  worthy  instrument,  and  I  as 
much  of  the  gratification  as  I  can  steal  from 
you.  Are  you  satisfied  with  your  wages,  my 
honored  Shylock  ?     Good-niglit." 

"  Humph  !  it  is  strange  what  a  hold  that 
queer,  motherless  child  took  upon  my  heart  in 
her  babyhood,  and  tightens  as  she  grows  older. 

'Th;\t  Ronls  are  dangerous  tilings  to  carry  straight' 
Through  all  the  gpilt  xaltpetre  of  the  world,' 

who  will  question  ?  Not  I,  surely ;  and  yet  I 
know  that  girl  will  take  hers  safely  to  the 
terminus  of  time,  pure,  with  no  smut  or  smell 
of  gunpowder.  A  pearl  before  swine  1  But,  I 
swear,  untrampled  to  the  end." 

He  shook  the  ashes  from  his  pipe,  put  it 
away  behind  the  clock,  and  went  down  to  hij 
buggy.  Before  breakfast  the  following  morn- 
ing, while  Irene  was  in  the  poultry -yard  feed- 
ing her  chickens  and  pigeons,  pheasants  and 
peafowls,  she  received  a  note  from  Dr.  Arnold 
Containing  these  few  scrawling  words  : 

"  If  you  do  not  feel  quite  ready  for  the  day 
of  judgment,  avoid  the  Row  as  you  would  tho 
plagues  of  Egypt.     I  found  no  less  than  six 
developed  cases  of  rank  typhus. 
'•Yours, 

"  Hiram  Ahnold." 

She  put  the  note  in  her  pocket,  and,  while 
the  pigeons  fluttered  and  perilled  on  her 
shoulders  and  arms,  cooing  and  j)ecking  at  her 
fingers,  she  stood  mu?ing-^  calculating  tho 
chances  of  contagion  and  death  if  ^iie  persisted. 
Raising  her  eyes  to  the  calm  blue  sky,  the 
perplexed  look  passed  from  her  countenance,  * 
and,  fully  decided  regarding  her  cour^^e,  she 
went  in  to  breakfast.  Mr.  Hunting<lon  was 
goincr  to  a  neighboring  county  with  Judge 
Petenson,  to  transact  some  business  connected 
with  Hugh's  estate,  and,  as  the  buggy  came  to 
the  door,  he  a»ked,  carelessly  :  \ 

"What  did  Cyrus  want?" 

"  He  came  to  bring  me  a  note  from  thd 
doctor,  concerning  some  sick  people  whom  I 
asked  him  to  sec." 

Oh — !  John,  put  my  ovrr-coat  in  the 
buggy.     Come,  Judge,  I  am  ready." 


118 


MACAIUA- 


As  he  made  no  inquiry  aboul  tbe  sickj  sbe 
voJuntoered  no  explanation,  and  lie  bade  her 
goo<l-by  with  manifest  cold  indifforonce.  She 
could  not  avoid  confrratulatinji  herself  that, 
since  he  must  take  this  journey  soon,  he  had 
■eleetcd  tlie  present  occasion  to  be  absent, 
for  she  was  well  aware  that  he  would  violently 
oppose  her  wishes  in  the  matter  of  the  liow. 
When  Dr.  Arnold  met  her,  late  in  the  after- 
noon of  the  same  day,  at  little  Johnnie's  side, 
his  surprise  and  chagrin  found  vent,  first  in^a 
scries  of  oaths,  then,  scowlinji  at  her  like  some 
thunder-cloud  with  the  electricity  expended, 
he  said  : 

"  Do  you  consider  me  a  stark  idiot,  or  a 
shallow  quack  ?" 

"  Neither,  sir,  I  assure  you." 

"Then,  if  I  know  anything  about  my  business, 
I  wrote  you  the  truth  this  morning,  and  you 
treat  my  advice  with  cool  contempt.  You  vex 
me  beyond  all  endurance !  Do  jou  want  to 
throw  yourself  into  the  jaws  of  death  V" 

"  Ko,  sir;  far  from  it;  but  I  had  incurred 
the  risk  before  I  was  aware  that  there  was 
any.  Beside,  I  really  do  not  think  I  shall  take 
the  fever.  1  believe  a  good  resolution  is  a 
powerful  preventive,  and  that,  you  know,  I 
have." 

"The  deuce  you  have!  you  obstinate,  un- 
governable piece  of  marble  !  Look  here, 
Irene,  I  shall  go  straight  to  your  father  and  let 
him  know  the  facts.  It  is  my  duty,  and  I  mean 
to  do  it." 

"  I  don't  think  you  will,  for  he  started  to 
B county  this  morning.  And  now,  Doc- 
tor, you  may  just  as  well  quit  scolding  me,  for 
I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  nurse  Johnnie, 
come  what  will." 

"  Yes !  I  will  warrant  you  have  !  and  you 
may  as  well  go  make  up  your  shroud,  too — for 
you  will  want  it,  I  am  thinking." 

"  Well,  my  life,  at  least,  is  my  own,  even  if 
it  should  prove  the  price." 

"  Oh  !  is  it,  indeed  ?  What  has  become  of 
that  pretty  doctrine  you  preached  to  mc 
yesterday  ?  I  thought  you  belonged  to  the 
■whole  human  fraternity  ?  Your  life  yours, 
indeed !" 

"  You  forget.  Doctor ;  '  greater  love  hath  no 
man  than  this,  that  he  lay  down  his  life  for  his 
friends.'" 

She  slipped  her  hand  into  his,  and  looked 
up,  smiling  and  calm,  into  his  harsh,  swarthy 
face. 

"  My  child,  you  made  a  mistake  ;  your  life 
belongs  to  me,  for  I  saved  it  in  your  infancy. 
I  cradled  you  in  my  arnis^  lest  death  should 
snatch  you.  I  have  a  better  right  to  you  than 
anybody  else  in  this  world.  I  don't  want  to 
see  you  die ;  I  wish  to  go  first." 

"  I  know  what  I  owe  you,  Doctor;  but  I  am 
not  going  to  die,  and  you  have  scolded  mc 
enough  for  one  time.     Do  make  peace." 

"  Remember,  I  warned  you,  and  you  would 
not  heed." 


From  that  hour  she  kept  faithful  vigil  in  No. 
13  —  passing  continually  from  one  bedside  to 
another.  Susan's  attack  proved  comparative- 
ly light,  and  she  was  soon  pronounced  conva- 
lescent ;  but  little  Johnnie  was  desperately  ill, 
and  for  several  nights  Irene  sat  at  his  pillow, 
fearing  that  every  hour  would  be  his  last. 
While  his  delirium  was  at  its  height,  Hester 
was  taken  violently,  and  on  the  morning  when 
Irene  felt  that  her  labor  was  not  in  vain  and 
that  the  boy  would  get  well,  his  little  sister, 
whom  she  had  nursed  quite  as  assiduously, 
grew  rapidly  worse,  and  died  at  noon.  As  is 
frequently  observed  in  such  diseases,  tliis 
increased  in  virulence  with  every  new  case. 
It  spread  with  astonishing  celerity  through  the 
Rou".  baffling  the  ertbrts  of  the  best  jiliisicians 

in  W ;  and  finally,  the  day  after  ^e»- 

ter's  death,  as  Irene  sat  trying  to  comfort  the 
poor  mother,  a  neighbor  cnme  in,  e.vilaiming: 

"Oh,  Miss  Irene!  Philip  Martin  is  down, 
too.  He  caught  the  fever  irom  his  mother, 
and  his  father  says  w^on't  you  please  come 
over  ?" 

S|ie  went  promptly,  though  so  wearied  she 
could  scarcely  stand,  and  took  a  seat  by  the 
bed  where  tossed  the  poor  boy  in  whom  she 
had  taken  such  an  interest,  since  the  accident 
which  crushed  his  leg  in  the  machinery,  and 
rendered  him  a  temporary  cripple. 

"  He  has  been  talking  about  you  constantly, 
Miss  Irene,  and  calling  tor  you.  Philip,  my 
son,  here  fs  Miss  Irene." 

He  smiled  and  turne<l,  but  there  was  no 
recognition  in  the  hot  eyes,  and  after  an  instant 
he  muttered  on  incoherently. 

"You  must  go  home.  Miss  Huntingdon; 
you  are  worn  out.  His  father  can  watch  him 
till  his  mother  gets  stronger,"  said  Dr.  Bran- 
don, who  was  fully  acquainted  with  her  unre- 
mitting attendance  at  the  next  house. 

"No,  I  must  stay  with  Philip;  perhaps  lie 
will  know  me  when  he  wakes." 

A  hope  doomed  to  disajipointmcnt,  for  Ytn 
raved  for  four  days  and  nights,  calling  fran- 
tically for  the  serene,  sad  woman  who  sat  at 
his  ])illow,  ben<ling  over  him  and  laying  her 
cold  hand  on  his  scorched  brow.  On  the  fifth 
day,  being  free  from  fever  and  utterly  prostrat- 
ed, he  seemed  sinking  rapidly  ;  but  she  kept 
her  fingers  on  his  pulsi!,  and,  without  waitinjj 
for  the  doctor's  advice,  administered  powerful 
stimulants.  So  i)assed  two  hours  ot  painful 
anxiety;  then  Philip  opened  his  eyes  languidly, 
and  looked  at  her. 

"  Philip,  do  you  know  me  ?" 

"  Yes — Miss  Irene." 

She  sank  back  as  if  some  strong  supporting 
hand  had  suddenly  been  withdrawn  from  her; 
and,  ob.serving  that  she  looked  ghastly,  Mr- 
Martin  hastily  brought  her  a  glass  of  water. 
Just  then  Dr.  Brandon  entered,  and  examined 
his  patient  with  evident  surprise. 

"  What  have  you  done  to  him.  Miss  Ilunc- 
tincdon  ?" 


MACARIA. 


119 


"Since  daJ'Ught  I  have  been  giving  hiin 
ammonia  and  brandy ;  hiiS  pulse  was  so  feeble 
and  thready  I  thought  he  needed  it,  ajid  I  was 
afraid  to  wait  for  yoa." 

"  Right !  and  you  saved  his  life  by  it.  I 
«ould  not  get  here  any  earlier,  and  if  you  had 
delayed  it  until  I  came  it  would  probably 
Jiave  been  too  late.  You  may  call  him  your 
patient  after  this." 

She  waited  no  longer,  but  staggered  to  the 
door;  and  Andrew,  seeing  how  faint  she  was, 
came  to  meet  lier,  and  led  her  to  the  carriage. 
The  ten  days  of  watching  had  told  upon  her; 
and  when  she  reached  home,  and  Nellie  brought 
her  wrapper  and  unlae'od  her  shoes,  she  fell 
back  on  her  lounge  in  a  heavy,  death-like 
deep.  Mr.,  Huntingdon  had  been  expected 
two  days  before,  but  failed  to  arrive  at  the 
time  designated ;  and,  having  her  fears  fully 
aroused,  Nellie  despatched  a  messenger  lor 
Dr.  Arnold. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

•'Do  you  see  any  change,  Hiram  ?" 

"  None  for  the  better." 

Mr.  Huntingdon  dropped  his  bead  on  his 
hand  again,*and  Dr.  Arnold  resumed  his  slow 
walk  up  and  down  the  carpet.  The  blue 
damask  curtains  had  been  looped  back  from 
the  western  window,  and  the  broad  band  of 
yellow  belting  in  the  sky  threw  a  mellow  liglit 
over  the  bed  where  lay  the  unconscious  heiress 
of  the  grand  old  Hill.  Fever  rouged  the  polish- 
ed checks  usually  ])ure  as  alabaster,  and  touched 
the  parted  lips  with  deeper  scarlet,  lending  a 
brilliant  and  almost  unearthly  beauty  to  the 
sculptured  features.  Her  hair,  partially  escap- 
ing from  confinement,  straggled  in  crumpled 
rings  and  folds  across  the  pillow,  a  mass  of 
golden  netting ;  and  the  sparkling  eyes  wan- 
dered from  one  object  to  another  as  if  in 
anxious  search.  The  disease  had  assumed  a 
difTercnt  type,  and,  instead  of  raving  paro-xysma, 
her  illness  was  characterized  by  a  silent, 
wakeful  unconsciousness,  while  opiates  pro- 
duced only  the  eifect  of  increasing  her  rest- 
lessness. A  week  had  passed  thus  —  during 
which  time  she  had  recognized  no  one,  and 
thougli  numerous  lady  friends  came  to  offer 
assistance,  all  were  refused  permission  to  see 
her.  Mr.  Huntingdon  was  utterly  ignorant  of 
the  duties  of  a  nurse;  and  though  he  haunted 
the  room  like  an  unlift,ing  shadow,  Dr.  Arnold 
and  Nellie  took  entire  cli;irge  of  the  patient. 
The  former  was  unremitting  in  \m  care,  sitting 
beside  the  pillow  through  the^long  winter 
nights,  and  snatching  a  few  hours  sleep  during 
the  day.  Watching  her  now,  as  he  walked  to 
and  fro,  he  noticed  tliat  her  eyes  followed  him 
earnestly,  and  he  paused  at  the  bedside  and 
leaned  over  her. 

"Irene,  what  do  you  want?  Does  my 
walking  annoy  you  V 


No  answer. 

"  Won't  you  shut  your  eyes,  my  darling, 
and  try  ft)  go  to  sleep  V" 

The  deep  brilliant  eyes  only  looked  into 
his  with  mocking  intentncss. *  He  put  his 
fingers  on  the  lids  and  pressed  them  gently 
down,  but  she  struggled,  and  turned  away  her 
face.  Her  hands  crept  constantly  along  the 
snowy  quilt  as  if  seeking  for  something,  aad 
taking  them  both  he  folded  them  in  his  and 
pressed  them  to  his  lips,  while  tears,  which  he 
did  not  attempt  to  restrain,  fell  over  them. 

"  You  don't  think  slie  is  any  worse,  do  you?" 
asked  the  father,  hu.skily. 

"  I  don't  know  anything,  except  that  she 
can't  lay  this  way  much  longer." 

His  harsh  voice  faltered  and  his  stern  mouth 
trembled.  He  laid  the  hands  back,  went  to 
the  window,  and  stood  there  till  the  room  grew 
dusky  and  the  lamp  was  brought  in.  As 
Nellie  closed  the  door  after  her.  the  doctor 
came  to  the  hearth,  and  said,  sharply  : 

"  I  would  not  be  in  your  place  for  John  Ja- 
cob Aster's*  fortune." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?" 

"  I  mean  that,  if  you  have  any  conscience 
left,  you  must  suffer  the  pains  of  purgatory  for 
the  manner  in  which  you  have  persecuted 
that  chihl." 

"  In  all  that  I  have  ever  done  I  have  looked 
only  to  her  good,  to  her  ultimate  happiness.  I 
know  that  she  — ." 

"Hush,  Leonard!  hush!  You  know  very 
well  that  you  have  been  down  on  your  knees 
before  the  Golden  Calf  ever  since  that  girl 
opened  her  eyes  in  this  plagued  world  of 
trouble!  You  are  no  more  fit  to  be  a  father" 
than  I  am  to  be  a  saint !  You  have  tyrannized 
and  fretted  ker  poor  innocent  soul  nearly  out 
of  her  ever  since  she  was  big  enough  to  crawl. 
Why  the  d — 1  could  not  you  let  the  child 
have  a  little  peace  ?  I  told  you  how  it  would 
end  ;  but  oh,  no  1  you  could  see  nothing  btit 
the  gilt  face  of  your  bellowing  god!  You 
tormented  her  so  about  Hugh,  that  anybody 
else  would  have  hated  the  poor  fellow.  Mind 
you,  she  never  opened  her  lips  to  me  with 
reference  to  that  matter  in  her  life  ;  she  would 
have  been  gibbeted  first.  But  I  am  not  Idind 
entirely  ;  I  knew  what  was  going  on  ;  I  knew 
that  the  proud,  sensitive  bird  w;vs  hunted, 
and  could  find  no  spot  to  rest  upon.  There 
are  ninety-nine  chances  to  one  tiiat  slie  has 
come  to  her  rest  at  last.  You  will  I'eol  pleas- 
antly when  you  see  her  in  her  shroud." 

His  hard  face  worked  painfully,  and  tears 
glided  down  the  wrinkled  cheek  and  Kid 
themselves  in  his  gray  beard.  Mr.  Hunting- 
don was  much  agitated,  but  an  angry  flush 
crossed  his  brow  as  he  answered,  hastily  : 

"  I  am  the  best  judge  of  my  family  matters. 
You  are  unjust  and  severe.  Of  course,  I  love 
my  child  better  than  anybody  else." 

*'  Heaven  preserve  her  from  sueli  love  as 
you  have  lavished  on  her!     She  is  very  dear 


Vi* 


MACARIA. 


to  me.  I  nndcrstand  her  cliararter;  you 
either  can  not  or  will  not.  She  is  the  only 
th'mg  in  this  world  that  I  do  really  love.  I 
iiave  fonrllcd  hor  fiom  tlie  time  when  she  was 
a  week  old,  and  it  hurts  me  to  see  her  suffer 
as  she  has  done  ever  sime  you  posted  her  off 
aiijonp;  strangers  in  New  York.  It  will  go 
hard  with  me  to  lay  her  ilown,  in  all  her  love- 
liness, in  tlic  grave.  My  pet,  my  violet-eyed 
darling  !"  ' 

He  shaded  his  face  and  swallowed  a  sob. 
.\nd  for  some  moments  neither  spoke.  After  a 
while  liie  doctor  buttoned  up  his  coat  and  took 
hi.s  hat. 

"  I  am  going  down  to  my  office  to  get  a  dif- 
ferent pri'scription.     I  will  be  back  soon." 

"  Mrs.  Harris  ami  Mrs.  Clark  said  that  they 
woald  sit  up  to-night.  Iliram,  you  must  be 
worn  out,  losing  so  much  sleep." 

'•  Tell  Mrs.  Harris  and  Mrs.  Clark  to  go  to 
Kgrpt !  Do  you  suppose  I  want  two  such 
gossip-hawks  perched  over  my  dove?  I  am 
geing  to  sit  up  myself.  Give  Irene  a  spoonful 
of  that  mixture  in  the  small  vial  at  seven 
o'clock." 

Contrary  to  his  phlegmatic  habit,  the  doctor 
had  taken  counsel  of  his  fears  until  he  was 
completely  unnerved,  and  he  went  home  more 
than  usually  surly  and  snappish.  As  he 
entered  his  ollice,  Russell  ailvanced  to  meet 
him  from  the  window,  whence,  for  nearly  an 
hour,  lie  had  been  watching  for  his  arrival. 

'•  Good-evening,  Doctor." 

"  What  do  you  want  ?' 

"  How  h  M"i.>9  Huntingdon  ?" 

"  What  is  Mis3  Huntingdon  to  you  ?" 

"  Siie  was  one  of  my  mother's  best  friends, 
thougli  only  a  little  girl  at  the  time." 

"  And  you  love  her  for  your  mother's  sake, 
I  suppose  ?     Truly  filial." 

"  For  that  matter,  she  is  beautiful  enough  to 
be  very  easily  loved  for  her  own  .sake,  judging 
from  the  number  of  her  devoted  admirers. 
But  I  certainly  am  very  grateful  for  her  kiud- 
nosa  to  my  mother,  years  ago." 

"  And  well  you  may  be,  Aubrey  I  She  paid 
dearly  for  her  friendly  interest  in  your  famdy." 

"  In  what  respect,  sir  ?" 

"  In  niore  respects  than  I  choose  to  recapit- 
ulate. Did  you  ever  know  where  she  got  the 
two  hundred  dollars  which  she  gave  your 
mother?" 

'•  I  presume  she  took  it  from  her  own  purse." 

"  She  borrowed  it  from  me,  and  paid  me 
back  gradually  in  the  money  that  her  father 
^ave  her,  from  time  to  time,  while  she  was  at 
boarding-school.  Cyrus  !  you  stupid  I  bring 
mo  sonic  co/Tce." 

"  How  is  she  to-night  ?  Rumors  are  so  un- 
reliable, that  I  came  to  you  to  find  out  the 
trutli." 

"  She  is  going  to  die,  I  am   afraid." 

A  sudden  pallor  overspread  Russell's  face, 
bnt  he  .sat  erect  and  motionles.s,  and,  fastening 
liis  keen  eyes  upon  him,  th«  doctor  added  : 


"  She  is  abbut  to  be  transplanted  to  a  bottsr 
world,  if  there  is  such  a  place.  She  is  too 
good  and  pure  for  this  cursed,  pestiferoM 
earth." 

"  Is  the  case  so  utterly  hopeless  ?  I  can 
not,  I  will  not,  believe  it !"  came  indittinctljr 
from  the  young  man's  bloodless  lips. 

"  I  tell  you  I  know  better!  She  stands  on 
a  hair  stretched  across  her  grave.  If  I  don'l 
succeed  to-night  in  makinf;  her  sleep  (which 
I  have  been  trying  to  accomplish  for  two  days), 
she  can't  po.s-sibly  live.  And  what  is  thac 
whole  confounded  crew  of  factory  savages  in 
comparison-  with  her  precious  life  ?" 

"  Is  it  true  that  her  illness  is  attributable  t« 
nursing  those  people  ?" 

"  Yes.  1) — 1  take  the  Row  !  I  wish  the  river 
would  swallow  it  up." 

"  Is  she  conscious  ?" 

"  Heaven  only  knows ;  I  don't.  She  lies 
with  her  eyes  wide  open,  looking  at  every- 
thing as  if  she  were  searching  for  something 
which  she  had  lost,  but  never  speaks,  and  un- 
derstands nothing,  except  to  swallow  the  metl- 
icine  when  I  put  the  spoon  to  her  lips." 

"  If  I  could  only  see  her  !"  exclaimed  Rus- 
sell, and  an  expression  of  such  intense  agony 
settled  on  his  features,  usually  so  inflexible, 
that  his  companion  was  startled  and  astonish- 
ed. The  doctor  regarded  him  a  moment  with 
perplexity  ^nd  compassion  mingled  in  his  own 
lace;  then  light  broke  upon  him,  and,  rising, 
he  laid  his  hand  heavily  on  Russell's  shoulder. 

"  Of  course,  Aubrey,  you  don't  visit  at  that 
house  ?" 

"  Of  course  not."' 

"  Do  you  meet  her  often  ?" 

"  I  have  not  seen  her  for  nearly  a  year. 
Not  since  the  nij^ht  in  which  Hu^rh  Seymour 
Yas  drowned. 

lie  rose,  and  turned  away  to  screen  his 
countenance  from  the  scrutiny  to  which  it  waj 
subjected,  for  the  painful  shock  baflled  all  hi» 
efforts  at  self-control,  and  he  felt  that  his  face 
would  betray  him. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  Aubrey  ?" 

"  Back  to  my  ollice." 

"  Is  there  any  message  which  you  would 
like  for  me  to  deliver  to  her,  if  she  should  rc»- 
cover  her  consciousness  ?  You  may  trust  me, 
young  man."  % 

"Thank  you;  I  have  no  message  to  send.  I 
merely  called  to  ask  after  her.  I  trust  she 
will  yet  recover.     Good-night." 

He  walked  on  rapiiUy  till  he  reached  th« 
door  of  his  ofiice.  The  gas  was  burning 
brightly  over  his  desk,  and  red-tape  and  legal- 
^•ap  beckone^  him  in ;  but  fathomless  blufl 
eyes,  calm  as  mid-ocean,  looked  up  at  him, 
and,  without  entering,  he  turned,  and  wcnfc 
through  the  cold  and  darkness  to  the  ceme- 
tery, to  his  mother's  tomb.  She  had  been  his 
comfort  in  boyisli  sorrows,  and  habit  wa« 
strong;  he  went  to  her  grave  for  it  still. 

When    Russell   left   him,  Dr.  Arnold  took 


MACARIA. 


121 


from  liis  pocket  the  only  solace  ho  had  ever 
known — Iks  meerschaum.  While  he  smoked, 
and  mixed  some  powders  in  a  marble  mortar, 
memory  industriously  ran  back,  rakinj  ami<] 
bhe  ashes  of  the  by-gone  for  here  a  word  and 
there  a  look,  to  eke  out  the  Ariadne  thread 
whicli  his  imagination  was  spinning.  The 
possibility  of  an  attachment  between  Irene 
»nd  the  blind  widow's  son  had  never  occurred 
to  him  before;  but  that  Russell's  unmistak- 
able emotion  could  be  referable  simply  to  grat- 
itude to  his  mother's  benefactress,  was  an 
tixplanation  of  which  he  was  disposed  to  be 
very  sceptical.  If  this  surmise  should  prove 
florrect,  what  Were  Irene's  feelings  toward  the 
popular  young  politician  ?  Here  he  was  ab- 
solutely without  data;  he  could  recall  nothing 
to  assist  him  ;  but,  comprehending  the  bitter 
animosity  existing  between  the  lawyer  and 
her  father,  he  sighed  involuntarily,  knowing 
the  hopelessness  of  any  such  attachment  on 
either  or  both  sides.  Determined  to  satisfy 
himself  of  the  truth  at  the  earliest  opportuni- 
ty, he  carefully  weiahed  out  the  powder  and 
rode  back  to  the  Hill.  He  could  perceive  no 
change,  unless  it  were  a  heightening  of  the 
oarmine  on  cheeks  and  lips,  and  an  increased 
twitching  of  the  fingers,  which  hunted  so  per- 
tinaciously about  the  bed-clothes. 

"  That  everlasting  picking,  picking  at  every- 
thing, is  such  an  awful  bad  sign^'  said  poor 
Nellie,  who  was  crying  bitterly  ac  the  foot,  of 
the  bed,  and  she  covered  her  face  with  her 
apron  to  shut  out  the  sight. 
'  "  You  '  pick '  yourself  olT  to  bed,  Nellie  !  I 
don't  want  you  snubbing  and  groaning  around, 
day  and  night." 

"  I  am  afraid  to  leave  her  a  minute.  I  am 
afraid  when  my  poor  baby  shwts  her  eyes  she 
never  will  open  'em  again  till  she  opens  'em  in 
heaven." 

"  Oil,  go  along  to  sleep  !  you  eternal  old 
•tupid.  I  will  wake  you  up,  I  tell  you,  if  she 
gets  worse." 

He  mixed  one  of  the  powders  and  stooped 
down. 

*'  Irene — Irene,  take  this  for  me,  won't  you, 
dear  V" 

She  gave  no  intimation  of  having  heard  him 
till  he  placed  the  wineglass  to  her  mouth  and 
raised  her  head  tenderly ;  then  she  swallowed 
\he  contents  mechanically.  At  the  expiration 
of  an  hour  he  repeated  the  dose,  and  at  ten 
o'clock,  while  he  sat  watching-her  intently,  he 
•aw  the  eyelids  begin  to  droop,  the  long  silky 
Ift-shf^s  quivered  and  touched  her  cheeks.  When 
he  listened  to  her  breathing,  and  knew  that  at 
last  she  slept,  his  gray  heail  sank  on  his  chest, 
and  he  niurniured,  inaudihly,  "thank  God!" 
Patient  as  a  woman,  he  kept  his  place  at  her 
dde,  fearing  to  move  lest  he  should  wake  her  ; 
the  dreary  hours  of  night  wore  away;  morning 
(Mme,  gloriously  bright,  and  still  she  slept. 
The  flush  had  laded,  leaving  her  wan  as  death, 
oud  the  little  hands  wore  now  at  rest.     She 


looked  like  the  figures  which  all  have  seen  on 
cenotaphs,  and  anxiously  and  often  th(^  doctor 
felt  the  slow  pulse,  that  seemed  weary  of  itj 
mission.  He  kept  the  room  quiet  and  main- 
tained his  faithful  watch,  refusmg  to  leave  her 
for  a  moment.  Twelve  o'clock  rolled  round, 
and  It  appeared,  indeed,  as  if  Nellie's  prognos- 
tication would  prove  true,  the  sleeper  was  so 
motionless.  At  three  o'clock  the  doctor  count- 
ed the  pulse,  and,  reassured,  threw  his  head 
back  against  the  velvet  lining  of  ■the  chair,  and 
shut  his  aching  eyes.  Before  five  minutes  had 
elapsed  he  heard  a  faint  sweet  voice  say, 
"  Paragon."  Springing  to  his  feet,  he  saw 
her  put  out  her  hand  to  pat  the  head  of  her 
favorite,  who  could  not  be  kept  out  of  the 
room,"  and  howled  so  intolerably  when  they 
chained  him  that  they  were  forced  to  set  him 
free.  Now  he  stood  with  his  paws  on  the  pil- 
low and  his  face  close  to  hers,  whining  witk 
delight.  Tears  of  joy  almost  blinded  the  doc- 
tor as  he  pushed  Paragon  aside,  and  said, 
eagerly : 

"  Irene,  one  dog  is  as  good  as  another !  Yoa 
know  Paragon;  do  you  know  me,  Qieen?" 

"  Certainly — I  know  you,  Doctor." 

"  God  bless  you,  beauty !  You  have  n't 
known  me  for  a  week."      , 

"  I  am  so  thirsty — please  give  me  some  wa- 
ter." 

He  lifted  her  head  and  she  drank  eagerly, 
till  he  checked  her. 

"  There — we  have  n't  all  turned  hvdropath- 
ists  since  you  were  taken  sick.  Nellie!  Isay, 
Nellie  !  you  AVitch  of  Endor !  bring  some  wlno- 
whey  here.     Irene,  how  do  you  feel,  cliild  '(" 

"  Very  tired  and  feeble,  sir.  My  head  is 
confused.     Where  is  father?" 

"  Here  I  am,  ray  daughter." 

He  bent  down  with  trembling  lips  and 
kissed  her,  for  the  first  time  since  the  day  of 
their  estrangement,  nearly  three  years  before. 
She  put  her  arms  feebly  around  his  neck,  and 
as  he  held  hor  to  his  heart  she  felt  a  tear  drop 
on  her  forehead. 

"  Father,  have  you  forgiven  me  ?" 

He  cither  could  not  or  would  not  answer, 
but  kissed  her  again  Avarmly ;  and,  as  he  dis- 
engaged her  arms  and  left  the  room,  she  felt 
assured  that,  at  last,  she  had  been  forgiven- 
She  took, the  whey  silently,  and,  artcr  soma 
moments,  said  : 

"  Doctor,  have  you  been  sitting  by  mo  a 
long  time  ?" 

"  I  rather  think  I  have ! — losing  my  sleep  for 
nearly  ten  days,  you  unconscionable  youug 
heathen." 

"  Have  I  been  so  ill  as  to  require  that?  I 
have  a  dim  recollection  of  going  on  a  long 
journey,  and  of  your  being  by  my  side  all  the 
way." 

"  Well,  I  hope  you  travelled  to  your  entire 
satisfaction,  and  fouml  what  you  wanted — for 
you  were  fceRng  about,  as  if  hunting  for 
something,  the   whole   titue.     Oh!  I   am  90 


122 


MACARIA. 


thankful  that  you  know  me  once  more.  Child, 
you  Lave  cost  me  a  deal  of  sorrow.  Now  be 
quiiit,  and  po  to  slfop  airain;  at  lo.ist  don't 
talk  to  Nellie  or  Paraxon.  I  shall  take  a 
nap  on  the  sof:\  in  the  library. " 

She  reiraincd  her  strcnirth  ver)-  slowly,  and 
many  da}?  elapsed  before  she  was  able  to 
leave  her  room.  One  bright  sunjiy  morning 
she  sat  before  (be  open  window,  looking  down 
on  the  lawn  where  the  pigeons  flashed  in  and 
out  of  the  hcilges,  and  now  and  then  glanc- 
ing at  till*  lioiKjuet  of  choice  hot-house  flow- 
ers intlie  vase  beside  her.  lu  her  lap  lay  a 
letter  iii.<t  received  from  Harvey  Young — a 
letter  full  of  fond  remembrance,  grave  counsel, 
and  gcnile  encouragement — and  the  unbent 
lines  about  her  mouth  showed  that  hennind 
•was  troiibU-d. 

The  doctor  came  In  and  drew  up  a  chair. 

"  I  should  like  to  know  who  gave  you  leave 
to  ride  yesterday  ?" 

"  Father  tiiought  that  T  was  well  enough, 
and  the  carrlaire  was  close  and  warm.  I  hope, 
Bir,  that  I  shall  not  be  on  your  ihands  much 
longer." 

«'  Wliat  did  r  tell  you  ?  Next  time  don't  be 
80  hard-headid,  when  you  arc  advised  by  older 
and  wi^jfr  persons.  I  trust  you  are  quite  sat- 
isfied with  the  result  of  your  eleemosynary 
performances  at  the  Row." 

"  Far  from  it.  Doctor.  I  am  fully  acclimat- 
ed now,  and  have  nothing  to  fear  in  future. 
I  am  very  sorry,  sir,  that  I  caused  you  all  so 
much  trouble  and  an.xietv;  1  did  not  believe 
tl^at  1  sliould  take  the  fever.  If  Pliilip  had 
not  been  so  ill  I  should  have  come  out  safely  ; 
but,  I  suppose,  my  uneasiness  about  him  un- 
nerved me  in  some  waj' — for,  when  I  saw  that 
he  would  got  well,  allmy  strength  left  rac  in 
an  instant.     IIow  is  he,  sir  ?" 

"Oh!  the  young  dog  is  as  well  as  ever; 
limps  around  now  without  his  crutches.  Comes 
to  my  office  every  day  to  ask  after  his  blessed 
Lady  Bountiful.'' 

Leaning  forward  carelessly,  but  so  as  to 
command  a  full  view  of  her  face,  he  added  : 

"You  stirred  up  quite  an  excitement  in 
town,  and  introduced  me  generally  to  society. 
Peoi)Ie,  who  never  inflicted  themselves  on  me 
before,  thought  it  was  incumbent  on  them  to 
hang  around  my  door  to  make  incpiiries  con- 
cerning my  fair  pal  icnt.  One  night  I  found 
even  that  statue  of  bronze  and  steel,  Russell 
Aubrey,  waiting  at  my  ofliee  to  find  out  wheth- 
er you  really  intended  translation." 

A  change  certainly  passed  swiftly  over 
her  countenance  ;  but  it  was  inexplicable,  in- 
describable; an  anomalous  lightening  of  the 
eye  and  darkening  of  the  brow.  Before  he 
could  analyze  it,  lier  features  resumed  their 
■wonted  serenity,  and  he  found  her  voice  un- 
fluttered, 

"I  was  not  aware  that  "I  had  so  many 
frien4s;  it  is  a  pleasant  discovery,  and  almo.st 
compensates  for  the  pain  of  illness.     Take 


care,  Doctor  !  You  arc  tilting  n»y  flowers  out 
of  their  vase." 

"  Confound  the  flowers,  Queen  !  They  art 
always  in  the  way.  It  Is  a  great  pity  there  is 
suth  Theban-brother  afl'ection  between  your 
fiithcr  and  Aubrey.  lie  hac  any  amount  of 
fine  feeling  hid  away  under  that  dark.  Jesuit- 
ical, non-committal  {avc  of  his.  H<;  has  not 
forgotten  your  intirest  in  his  mother,  and 
when  1  told^  him  that  I  thought  you  had  do- 
termlneil  to  take  your  departure  from  this 
world  he  seemed  really  hurt  about  it.  I  al- 
ways liked  the  boy,  but  I  think  he  is  a  hercti* 
in  politics." 

Looking  steadily  at  him  as  he  spoke,  sIm 
smiled  coldly,  and  answered  : 

"  It  is  ver}'  apparent  that,  this  fierceness  of 
party  spirit,  this  bitter  political  animosity,  \i 
driving  the  ship  of  state  on  the  rock  of  ruin. 
The  foamy  lips  of  the  breaker;!  are  just  ahead, 
but  you  men  will  not  open  your  eyes  to  tb« 
danger." 

"  Better  get  some  of  you  wise  women  to 
julot  us,  I  dare  say  !"  sneered  her  companion, 
provoked  at  her  unsatisfactory  manner  and 
inflexible  features. 

"  It  is  not  Qur  calling,  Doctor ;  but  I  jjromlw 
you,  if  the  experiment  were  tried,  that  yon 
would  find  no  Palinurus  among  us.  We  hava 
no  desire  to  thrust  ourselves  into  the  forum, 
like  Roman  women  'storming  at  the  Oppian 
Law  and  crushing  Cato;'  still  less  to  imitata 
Ilortensia,  and  confronting  august  Triumviri 
in  the  market-place,  harangue.against  the  tax, 
however  unjust.  Practically,  women  should 
have  as  little  to  do  with  jiolitics  as  men  with 
darning  stockings  or  malving  pufl-paste  ;  but" 
we  should  be  unworthy  of  the  high  social  .'tlatuf 
which  your  chivalry  accords  us  weie  w« 
iudifl'erent  to  the  conduct  of  public  afl'airs. 

'  ^fnn  for  tlie  field,  mid  Mroiiimi  Tor  tlie  Iiearth  ; 
Muu  for  tlio  sword,  and  for  tlio  tu-edlp  hlio  : 
Mnii  Willi  (lie  liciid,  mid  woman  vritli  tiiu  liuart : 
Man  to  comiaaud,  and  ^YonInn  to  obey,* 

Such  is  the  judicious  arrangement  of  nature — 
a  wise  and  happy  one,  indubitably.  We  bow 
before  it,  and  have  no  wish  to  trench  on  your 
prerogatives;  but  we  do  protest  against  your 
sleeping  on  your  posts,  or  lulling  yourselves 
with  (ircums  of  scifi.sh  ambition  when  Scylla 
and  Charybdisgrin  destruction  on  either  side." 

"Phew — Queen!  who  told  you  all  that? 
Has  Aubrey  indoctrinated  you  in  his  'fire-eat^ 
ing,'  schismatic  princij)les  V  What  platform 
do  you  projiose  to  mount  ?" 

"  None,  sir,  but  that  of  the  constitnt'on — 
ignoring  both  Whig  and  Democratic  addition.^ 
which  make  it  top-heavy.  I  don't  lik« 
latter-day  political  carpentering.  I  want  to 
see  Nestors  in  the  councils  of  my  country,  no* 
nerveless  imbeciles  or  worthless,  desperate 
political  gamesters." 

"  You  rabid  little  Jacobin  I  Don't  you  think 
that,  Portia-like,  you  might,  completely  tranu- 
mogrlfy  yourself,  and  get  into  Congress  and 


MACARIA. 


133 


Cabin(?t  lontr  enough  to  write  ^  Mene,  mene' 
on  tlioir  walls  V" 

"  Tlit'v  would  have  no  Daniel  there,  even  if 
I  should,  wliich  is  no  business  of  mine.  Doc- 
tor, I  claim  to  be  no  politician  ;  a  tliousand 
J  ears  will  scarcely  produce  another  De  Stael. 
am  simply  a  true  lover  of  my  country — 
anxious  in  view  of  its  stormy,  troubled  future." 

"Aubrey  has  not  proselyted  you,  then,  alter 
all  ? ' 

She  had  unlocked  her  ■writing-desk,  and, 
•without  seeming  to  hear  his  last  words,  handed 
him  a  letter. 

"  Here  is  a  letter  from  uncle  Eric,  which  I 
received  yesterday.  It  contains  a  message 
for  you  about  some  medical  books  and 
journals." 

He  muttered  something  indistinctly,  put  the 
letter  in  his  pocket,  and  took  her  hand. 

"  Irene — what  is  the  matter,  dear  child  ? 
Your  pulse  is  entirely  too  quick." 

"  That  is  nothing  new,  Doctor.  Father 
insists  that  I  sliall  drink  port-wine,  and  it  does 
not  suit  me  —  keeps  my  head  aching  con- 
tinually." 

"  Try  porter  instead." 

She  shook  her  head  wearily. 

"  I  need  nothing,  sir,  but  to  be  let  alone." 

He  smoothed  back  her  hair  and  said, 
hastily  : 

"You  will  never  get  what  you  need.  •  Oh, 
ckild  !  whv  won't  you  trust  me  V" 

"Why— Doctor!     I  do." 

"  Hush  !  don't  tell  me  that !  I  know  better. 
You  steel  that  white  face  of  yours,  and  lock 
your  confidence  from  the  old  man  who  loves 
you  aliov  e  all  other  things." 

She  drew  down  his  hand  from  her  head  and 
leaned  her  coM  cheek  upon  it. 

"  You  misunderstand  me,  sir  ;  I  repose  the 
most  perfect  confidence  in  you.  If  1  were  in 
trouble,  and  wanted  help  or  a  favor  of  any 
kind,  I  would  apply  to  you  sooner  than  to  any 
other  human  being — for  you  have  always  been 
more  patient  with  my  whims  than  even  my 
own  father — and  I  should  be  w^orse  than  an 
iugrale  if  I  had  not  the  most  complete  trust  in 
you.  ]\Iy  dear,  kind  friend,  what  have  I  done 
to  fret  you  V" 

Ue  did  not  reply,  but  searched  her  coun- 
tenance sorrowfully. 

"  Doctor,  tell  me  one  thing.  You  nursed 
ioe  constantly  while  I  was  unconscious,  and  I 
want  to  know  whether  I  said  anything  durjjg 
my  dcliriiun  that  surprised  or  annoyed  you." 

"  No  ;  tiie  trouble  was  that  you  sealed  your 
lips  hermetically.  Are  you  afraid  now  that 
you  divulged  scime  secret  which  I  may  betray  V" 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  your  bc<traying  any- 
thing— never  had  such  a  tliouglK.  When  do 
you  think  that  I  may  take  a  horse -back  ride 
with  impunity  V     I  am  so  tired  of  the  house." 

"  Not  for  a  week,  at  least.  You  must  be 
prudent,  Irene,  for  you  are  not  strong-yet,  by 
a  great  deal." 


"  I  wanted  to  talk  to  you,  this  morning, 
about  something  very  near  my  heart ;  but  yon 
are  going." 

"  I  can  wait,  my  child.     "What  is  it  ?" 

"  To-morrow  will  do  as  well.  I  want  yon 
to  aid  me  in  getting  a  bill  passed  by  the  legis- 
lature, appropriating  a  school  fund  for  this 
county.  Perhaps  you  can  obtain  IMr.  Aubrey's 
influence  with  the  members  of  the  lower 
house." 

"  Perhaps  I  '11  go  to  the  North  Pole  to  cool  a 
glass  of  amontillado  for  your  majesty  !  I  *ll  be 
hanged  if  I  have  anything  to  do  with  it! 
"Whv  the  deuce  can't  you  ask  Mr.  Aubrey 
yourself?" 

"  Because,  in  the  first  place,  you  know 
very  well  that  I  never  see  him,  and  I  could  not 
ask  him,  even  if  I  should  meet  him  ;  and,  beside, 
I  do  not  wish  to  be  known  at  all  in  the  afl'air. 
It  is  not  a  woman's  business  to  put  forward 
legislative  bills." 

"■Indeed  I  Then  why  are  you  meddling 
with  other  people's  business  ?" 

"  Our  legislators  seem  to  have  forgotten  one 
grand-  and  good  maxim  of  Lycurgus :  '  Chiir 
dren  are  the  property  of  the  state,  to  whom 
alone  their  education  should  be  intrusted.' 
They  have  forgotten  that  our  poor  require 
educating,  and  I  simply  desire  some  of  their 
constituents  to  call  their  attention  to  the  over- 
sight.    Doctor,  I  know  you  will  do  it." 

"  I  will  fii-st  see  my.self  floundering  like 
Pharaoh!  I  '11  rake  out  nobody's  chesnuts! 
Not  even  yours,  child  !  Put  down  that  win- 
dow ;  the  air  is  too  chilly.  You  are  as  cold  a« 
an  iceberg  and  as  blue  as  a  gentian." 

The  doctor  had  scarcely  taken  his  departure 
when  Nellie's  turbaned  head  showed  itself  at 
the  door. 

"  That  factory -boy,  Philip,  is  down  stairs  ; 
he  brought  back  a  book,  and  wants  to  see  you. 
He  seems  in  trouble ;  but  you  don't  feel  like 
being  bothered  to-day,  do  you  ?" 

"  Did  he  ask  to  see  me  V" 
■     '"Not  exactly;  but  showed  very  plainly  1m 
wanted  to  see  you." 

"  Let  him  come  up." 

As  he  entered,  she  rose  and  held  out  her 
hand. 

"  Good-morning,  Philip ;  I  am  glad  you  are 
well  enough  to  be  out  again." 

He  looked  at  her  revi-rently,  and,  as  he  no- 
ticed the  change  her  illness  had  wrought,  bis 
lips  quivered  and  his  eyes  filled. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Irene  !  I  am  so  glad  you  are  bet- 
ter. I  prayed  for  you  all  the  time  while  yon 
were  ,^o  very  ill." 

"  Thank  you.  Sit  down,  and  tell  me  about 
the  sick." 

"  They  are  all  better,  I  bcUcvo,  ma'm,  ex- 
ce))t  Mrs.  Davis.  She  was  wishing  yesterday 
that  she  could  sec  you  again." 

"  I  shall  go  there  in  a  day  or  two.  You  are 
walking  pretty  well  without  your  crutches. 
Have  you  resumed  your  work  ?" 


124 


MACARIA. 


"  I  shall  bcfrin  apain  to-morrow." 

"It  need  not  interfere  with  your  studiM. 
The  nijrhts  are  very  lonfr  now,  and  you  can 
Mccompli«h  a  great  deal  if  you  feel  disposed 
to  do  FO." 

He  did  not  answnr  immediately,  and,  observ- 
ing the  rloud  on  his  countenance,  she.  a(Med  : 

"Philip,  wliat  is  the  matter?  You  look 
troubled  ;  ran  I  do  anything;  for  you  V" 

A  deep  flush  mantlcil  his  sillow  cheek,  and, 
droopina  his  head  as  if  in  humiliation,  he  said, 
passionatfly : 

"  Oh,  Miss  Irene  I  You  are  the  only  friend 
I  have.  I  am  so  mortified  I  can  hardly  look 
anyboiiy  in  the  face.  Father  is  drinking  again 
worse  than  ever,  and  is  so  violent  that  mother 
won't  .stay  at  home ;  she  has  gone  across  the 
river  for  a  few  days.  I  have  done  all  I  could, 
but  I  can't  influence  him." 

"  Where  is  he  now  V" 

"The  police  put  him  in  the  guard-house 
last  night  for  creating  a  disturbance.  I  sup- 
pose, wiien  the  IMayor  holds  court,  he  will  be 
fined  and  turned  out.  Miss  Irene,  I  feel  like 
nimping  into  the  river  and  drowning  myself, 
ft  is  so  horrible  to  be  ashamed  of  my  own 
father !" 

lie  droppffi  his  face  in  his  hands,  and  she 
saw  that  he  trembled  violently. 

"  You  must  struggle  against  such  feelings, 
Philip;  tl,pugh  it  is  '-crtainly  very  mortifyin;; 
.to  know  that  your  father  has  been  arrested. 
If  you  conduct  yourself  properly,  people  will 
respect  you  all  the  more  because  of  your  mis- 
fortune." 

"  No,  Miss  Irene  !  they  are  always  holding 
H  up  "to  me.  Hard  as  I  try  to  do  right,  they 
are  continually  sneering  at  me,  and  sometimes 
it  makes  me  almost  desperate." 

"  That  is  uiijust  and  ungenerous.  No  one, 
who  has  any  refinement  or  goodness  of  heart, 
will  be  guilty  of  such  behavior.  1  do  not 
know  positively  that  I  can  assist  you,  but  I 
tliink  it  possible  I  can  obtain  a  situation  for 
your  father  as  carpenter  on  a  plantatwri  in 
the  country,  if  he  will  promise  to  abstai^jjj'iom. 
drinking.  I  have  heard  that  he  was  a  very 
good  mechanic,  and  in  the  country  he  would 
not  meet  with  .such  constant  temptation.  Do 
you  suppose  that  he  will  be  willing  to  leave 
town  ?" 

♦'  Oh,  yes,  ma'm  !  I  think  so ;  he  is  generally 
Tery  repentant  when  he  gets  sober.  If  yovi 
please,  ^liss  Irene,  I  should  be  so  glad  if  you 
would  talk  to  him,  and  persuade  him  to  take 
the  pledge  before  he  starts.  I  believe  he 
would  join  the  Temperance  society  if  you  ask- 
ed him  to  do  it.  Oh  I  then  I  should  have  some 
heart  to  work." 

"  You  and  your  mother  must  try  to  influtnce 
him,  and  in  a  few  days  I  will  talk  to  him.  In' 
the  meantinic  I  will  see  about  the  situation, 
which  is  a  very  desirable  one.  I  am  very  sorry, 
Philip,  that  this  trouble  has  occurred  again  ;  I 
know  that  it  is  very  painful,  but  you  must  en- 


deavor to  be  patient  and  hopeful,  and  to  bear 
up  bravely.     Brighter  days  will  soon  come,  I 
trust." 
■  He  took  his  cap  from  flie  carpet,  rose,  ami 
lookc<l  at  her  with  swimming  eyes. 

"  Oh,  ^Ii.ss  Irene  1  I  wish  I  could  tell  you  all 
I  feel.  I  thank  you  more  than  I  can  ever  ex- 
press, and  so  does  mother." 

"  You  have  finished  your  book,  I  see;  don't 
you  want  another?  Nellie  will  show  you  tha 
library,  and  on  the  lower  book-sheU',  on  the 
right-hand  side  of  the  door,  you  will  find  a 
large  volume  in  leather  binding — '  Plutarch.' 
Take  it  with  you,  and  read  it  carefully.  Good- 
by.  I  shall  come  down  to  the  Row  to-morrow 
or  ne.xt  day." 

As  she  heard  his  halting  step  descend  the 
stairs  she  leaned  back  wearily  in  her  chair, 
and,  closing  her  eyes,  these  words  crept  almoa* 
inaudibly  over  her  pale  lips: 

" But  go  to  I  tliy  lovo 

6lmll  oliant  itsi^lf.  its  own  bestitinle". 
After  it«  own  lire-working.     A  cliilil's  kiss 
Set  on  tliy  sighing  lips,  sbiiU  ninkc  tlif  e  kI.1(I  ; 
A  poor  man  Berved  liy  time,  shall  n>  "ke  tln'B  rich; 
A  Kick  man  helped  b;  tlice,  shall  mnke  thue  strong" 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

"  Well,  Irene,  what  is  vour  decision  about 
the  party  at  Mrs.  Churchhill's  to-night  ?" 

"I  will  go  with  you,  father,  if  it  is  a  matter 
of  so  much  interest  to  you;  though,  as  I  told, 
you  yesterday,  I  should  prefer  declining  tlui 
invitation  as  i'ar  as  I  am  concerned." 

"  It  is  full  time  for  you  to  go  into  society 
again.   You  have  moped  at  home  loivg  enough." 

" '  Mopcil '  is  scarcely  the  right  word,  father." 

"  It  matters  little  what  you  call  it,  the  fact 
is  the  same.  You  have  tfliut  yourself  in  till 
you  have  grown  to  look  like  a  totally  ditferent 
woman.  Indeed,  Irene,  I  wont  permit  it  any 
longer ;  you  must  como  out  into  the  world 
once  more.  I  am  sick  of  your  black  looks ; 
let  me  see  you  in  colors  to-night." 

"  Will  not  pure  white  content  you,  father?" 

"No;  I  am  tired  of  it;  wear  something 
bright." 

Mr.  Huntingdon  smoked  his  after-breakfast 
cigar  half-  reclined  on  the  upper  step,  and 
Irene  walked  up  and  down  the  wide  colon- 
nade, enjoying  the  cool,  dewy,  fragrant  Juns 
d^,  whose  sun  was  rapidly  moimting  in  heaT- 
en.  Tiie  air  was  of  that  peculiar  stillness 
found  oidy  in  southern  summer  mornings,  but 
now  and  then  its  holy  calm  was  rippled  by  the 
contented  ringing  whistle  of  a  partridge  far 
down  among  the  grassy  orchard -depths,  and 
by  the  peaceful  chime  of  doves  cooing  soft  and 
low,  one  to  another,  in  the  thickest  shadows  of 
the  dripping  grove.  True  summer  sounds — 
sure  concomitants  of  June.  Frail,  foam-like 
cloud-navies  in  line-of-battle,  as  if  piloted  by 
dubious,  treacherous  winds,  sailed  lazily  across 


MACARIA. 


lU 


the  6e»  of  intense  blue,  starino;  down  covet- 
ously at  a  ripening  field  of  flashing  wheat, 
which  bowed  and  wavered  in  a  long  billowy 
Bweep  and  swell  as  the  mild  June  breeze  stole 
over  it ;  and  on  a  nefghboring  hill-side,  where 
siekles  had  been  busy  a  few  days  before,  the 
royal  yellow  shocks  stood  thick  and  tall  in 
crowded  ranks,  like  golden  gods  of  Plenty. 

Ah  I  rare  June  day,  impearled  and  purpled, 
fi^eshly  glowing  from  the  robing  hands  of  Deity, 
serenely  regal  on  her  southern  throne  as^She- 
ba's  brown  (pieen. 

"  Irene,  sit  here  on  the  step,  wliere  I  can  see 
you  without  twisting  iiiy  head  olf  of  my  should- 
ers. Now,  then  —  what  is  the  matter  with 
you  ?■' 

"Nothing  unusual,  father." 

"  Don't  evade  me.  AVJiy  can't  you  look  and 
act  like  other  girls  of  your  age  ?  ' 

"  Probably  because  I  feel  differently.  But 
to  what  do  you  allude  ?  In  what  respect  have 
I  displeased  you  V" 

"Oh!  in  a  thousand.  You  never  would 
look  at  things  in  their  proper  light.  Why  did 
you  treat  \V  illiam  Bainbridge  so  coldly  yester- 
day evening  V  Yo«  know  very  well  that  he 
came  liere  expressly  to  see  you." 

"  And,  for  tiiat  reason,  sir,  I  felt  it  ray  duty 
to  receive  tiie  visit  coolly." 

"  You  disappointed  alt  my  plans  for  you 
once;  but  let  mc  tell  you,  if  you  are  not  a 
down-right  simpleton,  you  will  accept  the  offer 
William  Bainbridge  came  here  to  make.  You 
are  aware  of  the  warm  friendship  which  has 
always  existed  between  the  governor  and  my- 
self, and  his  son  is  considered  the  finest  match 
in  the  state.  If  you  live  a  thousand  years 
you  will  never  have  a  better  offer,  or  another 
aa  good  ;  and  I  do  hope,  my  daughter,  that  you 
will  not  be  insane  enough  to  reject  him."  , 

"  Father,  why  are  you  so  anxious  to  get  rid 
of  your  only  child  V  ' 

"  I  am  not ;  but  you  must  marry  some  time, 
ttnd  I  know  very  well  such  an  opportunity  as 
this  will  not  recur." 

"  Don't  you  think,  sir,  that  you  and  I  could 
live  always  happily  here  without  planting  a 
stranger  at  our  fireside?  Father,  let  us  un- 
derstand each  other  fully.  I  speak  deliberately 
and  solemnly — I  shall  never  marry." 

Mr.  Huntingdon  started  up  lioin  bis  indo- 
lent posture  and  surveyed  his  daughter 
keenly. 

Her  spotless  muslin  morning-dress  swept 
down  the  marble  steps,  its  wide  sleeves  falling 
away  from  the  rounded  dazzling  arms,  and  a 
black  cord  and  tassel  girding  the  waist.  The 
geranium  leaves  fastened  at  her  throat  were 
unstirred  aii  the  silver-dusted  lilies  sleeping, 
lotos-like,  oa  some  lonely  tarn  ;  and  thti  dewy 
Lamarque  roses  twined  in  her  coiled  hair 
glittered  and  kindled  into  faii>t  opaline  flushes 
as  the  sunshine  quivered  into  their  creamy 
hearts.  One  hand  held  a  steel  ring,  to  which 
half-a-dozea  keys  were  attached — the  other 


toyed  unconsciously  with  the  heavy  tassel, 
and  the  hushed  fixe.Q.,  Avith  its  deep  holy  eyes, 
was  lifted  to  meet  her  father's. 

"  Nonsense,  Irene !  I  have  heard  fifty 
women  say  that  same  thing,  and  have  danced 
at  their  weddings  six  months  later." 

"  I  do  not  doubt  it.  But,  father,  no  ono  will 
ever  dance  at  mine." 

"And,  pray,  why  have  n't  you  as  good  a  right 
to  marry  and  be  happy  as  olher  women  ?" 

"  The  abstract  right,  and  the  will  to  use  it, 
are  ditlcrcnt,  father ;  and,  as  regards  happiness, 
I  love  my  own  beautiful  home  too  well  to 
desire  to  change  it  for  any  other.  Let  me  b« 
quiet  here — I  ask  no  more." 

"  But,  Irene,  I  can't  be  expected  to  lire 
always,  even  Avere  my  ^society  suilicient  for 
you,  wjtfch  is  not  true." 

"  Dwrh  yields  allegiance  to  no  decree  of 
man.  I  may  find  Hugh  in  another  world 
before  you  are  called  to  quit  this." 

Her  father  shuddered,  and  smoked  silently 
for  severaTOeconds;  then  the  crash  of  wheels 
on  the  shelled  avenue  startled  both. 

"  Here  comes  Bainbridge  now.  I  promised 
him  that  you  would  play  a  game  of  billiards 
with  him  this  morning.  For  heaven's  sake, 
Irene  !  be  reasonable  for  once  in  your  life;  let 
me  hear  no  more  such  stuff  as  you  have  been 
talking,  but  treat  the  man  civilly,  and  giv<i 
him  wliat  he  will  ask." 

The  handsome  suitor  came  up  the  steps 
rather  dubiously,  as  if  fearful  of  his  welcome ; 
and  the  heiress  rose  composedly  and  received 
him  with  graceful,  polished,  imperturbable  re- 
serve. A  lew  months  before,  in  compliance  with 
her  father's  earnest  request,  she  had  accompaiM- 
ed  him  to  the  capital  of  the  state,  and  during  this 
brief  visit  met  and  completely  fascinated  Mr. 
Bainbridge,  whose  attentions  were  suscejitible 
of  but  one  interpretation.  He  was  a  year  her 
senior — a  chivalric,  agreeable,  gay  young  man, 
who  had  grown  up  without  selecting  a  pro- 
fession, knowing  that  his  ample  fortune  would 
more  than  suflice  for  his  maintenance.  Ho 
was  the  only  sou  of  the  governor  ;  his  charac- 
ter was  unimpeachable,  his  nature  magnani- 
mous, and  many  of  his  impulses  were  truly 
noble — but  his  intellect  was  far  inferior  to 
hers.  He  could  no  more  comprehend  her 
than  some  Iong-»inurned  Assyrian  scroll,  for 
which  the  cipher  key  is  wanting;  and  in  th« 
midst  of  his  devotion  she  was  conscious  of  uo 
feeling  save  that  of  utter  indilfercjice,  some- 
times wa.\ing  into  impatience  at  his  freqi\eut 
visits.  She  had  studiously  avoided  encourag- 
ing his  attentions,  but  he  either  could  not  or 
would  not  interpret  her  cold  reticence. 

The  morning  was  spent  over  the  billiard- 
table,  and  at  last,  foiled  by  her  skilful  guiding 
of  the  fragmentary  conversation,  Mr.  Bain- 
bridge having  been  refused  the  honor  of 
escorting  her  to  the  party,  took  his  leave,  ox- 
pressing  the  hope  that  in  a  few  hours  bo  should 
see  her  again. 


12G 


MAC  ARIA. 


"  Well?"  said  Mr.  Huntingdon,  seating  him- 
self at  the  luncheon-table. 

"  Well,  father;  wc  played  till  I  was  heartilj 
tired." 

"  But  the  result  of  tlie  visit,  Irene  ?" 

"  Tlie  result  was  that  I  heat  him  three  games 
oat  of  five.  John,  where  is  the  elaret  ?  You 
have  forgotten  it;  here  arc  the  keys." 

•'Pshaw!  I  mean,  did  Bainbridge  come  to 
the  point." 

"  i  took  most  of  the  points  from  him." 

"  Confound  your  quibbling  1  Did  you  ac- 
cept him  V" 

*'  I  am  happy  to  be  able  to  tell  you,  sir,  that ; 
he  did  not  atlord  nie  an  opportunity." 

"  Then  I  will  be  sworn  it  was  your  fault — 
not  his !" 

A  short  silence  ensued  :  Irene  sat,  s^mingly 
abstracted,  di[)ping  her  slender  hj^  in  a 
ruby-colored  bohcuiian  finger-bowl.  Present- 
ly John  returned ;  she  took  the  bottle  from 
him,  and,  filling  her  fathers  glass,  said, 
earnestly: 

"Father,  I  have  a  favor  to  ask  at  your 
hands;  are  you  in  a  mood  for  concessions y" 

"'TliHt  depends — ,'  as  (iuy  Darrell  says. 
What  is  it?  Do  you  want  a  new  collar  for 
Paragon,  or  a  bran  new  pigeon -bo.\  twice 
khe  size  of  the  old  one?  Something  un- 
reasonable, I  will  warrant.  You  never  want 
what  you  ought  to  have.  Speak  out,  my 
bleached  gentile  P>sther  1" 

"I  d'o  want  another  pigeon -box  badly,  but 
that  is  not  to  be  asked  for  to-day.  Father, 
will  you  give  me  that  large  beautiful  vacant 
lot,  witii  the  old  willow  tree,  on  the  corner  of 
Pine  street  and  Huntingdon  avenue,  opposite 
the  court-house  ?" 

♦'  Upon  my  word  !  I  must  say  you  are  very 
modest  in  your  refiuest  1  What  the  deuce  do 
rou  want  with  it?" 

'  "  I  know  that  I  am  asking  a  good  deal,  sir  ; 
but  1  want  it  as  a  site  for  an  orphan  asylum. 
Will  you  give  it  to  me  ?" 

"  IS'o !  1  'U  be  hanged  if  I  do  !  Are  you 
going  entirely  deranged  !  What  business  have 
you  with  asylums,  I  should  like  to  know? 
Put  all  of  thiit  ridiculous  stuff  out  of  your  head. 
Here  is  something  for  which  I  sent  to  Europe. 
Eric  selected  it  in  Paris,  and  it  arrived  yes- 
terday.    Wear  it  to-night." 

He  drew  a  velvet  case  from  his  pocket  and 
laid  it  before  her.  Touching  the  spring,  the  lid 
flew  open,  and  on  the  blue  satin  lining  lay  the 
blazing  coils  of  a  magnificent  diamond  neck- 
lace and  bracelets. 

"  How  beautiful !  how  spcndidly  beautiful  I" 

She  bent  over  the.  flashing  mass  in  silent 
admiration  for  some  time,  e.xamining  the  deli- 
cate setting,  then  looked  up  at  her  lather. 

"  What  did  they  cost?" 

"  Why  do  you  want  to  know  that  ?" 

*'  I  am  pardonably  curious  on  the  subject." 

"Well,  then,  I  was  silly  enough  to  give 
seven  thousand  dollars  for  them." 


"And  what  is  the  value  of  that  lot  I  asked 
for  ?" 

"  Five  thousand  dollars." 

"  Father,  these  diamonds  are  the  finest  I 
ever  saw.  They  are  superbly  beautiful ;  a 
t|ueen  might  be  proud  of  thein,  and  1  thank 
you  most  earnestly  for  such  a  gorgeous 
present;  but,  if  you  will  not  be  oflended,  I  will 
be  candid  with  you — I  would  a  thousand  times 
rather  have  the  lot  than  the  jewels." 

The  expression  of  blank  astonishment  with 
whiih  these  words  were  received  woulil  have 
been  ludicrous  but  for  the  ominous  thickening 
of  his  brows. 

"  Father,  do  not  feel  hurt  with  me,  or  at- 
tribute my  conduct  to  any  want  of  gratitude 
for  your  indulgent  kindness.  If  I  love  the 
smiles  of  happy  children  more  than  the 
radiance  of  these  costly  gems,  and  would 
rather  wear  in  my  heart  the  contented  faces 
of  well-cared-for  orphans  than  on  my  neck 
these  glitering  diamonds,  may  I  not  at  least 
utter  my  preference  without  oflending  you? 
When  I  think  of  the  better  use  to  which  this 
money  might  be  applied,  the  incalculable  good 
it  would  effect,  I  shrink  from  hoarding  it  up 
on  my  person  to  dazzle  the  eyes  of  my  associ- 
ates, to  incite  some  to  intimate  the  lavish 
expenditure,  and  to  awaken  in  others  envious 
discontent  at  their  inability  to  cover  them- 
selves with  similar  splendor  The  result  of 
such  an  example  on  our  society  would  be  like 
dropping  a  pebble  into  some  crystal  lakelet 
sleeping  in  evening  sunshine  ;  the  wavering 
ring  would  widen  till  the  entire  glassy  surface 
was  shivered  into  spinning  circles  and  dashed 
on  the  rocky  shore  beyond.  Father,  forgive 
me,  if  I  have  said  anything  disagreeable  to 
you.  I  shall  be  grieved  indeed  if,  on  the 
occasion  of  your  too  generous  indulgence,  any 
dissension  arise  between  us.  Tell  me  that 
you  are  not  angry  with  me." 

She  laid  her  fingers  on  his  arm,  but  ho 
shook  ott"  the  touch,  and,  scowling  sullenly, 
snatched  th'b  velvet  case  from  her  hand  and 
stamped  out  of  the  room — slamming  the  door 
so  violently  that  the  glasses  on  the  table  rang 
out  a  tinkling  chime,  and  the  red  wine  in  the 
bottle  danced  a  saraband. 

He  went  to  town,,  and  she  met  him  no  more 
till  she  was  ikttired  lor  the  party.  Standing 
before  the  mirror  in  her  own  room  she 
arranged  the  flowers  in  her  hair,  aiid,  when 
the  leaves  were  disposed  to  suit  her  fastidious 
taste,  she  took  up  a  pearl  set  which  he  had 
given  her  years  before,  intending  to  wear  it. 
But  just  then  raising  her  eyes,  she  saw  her 
father's  image  reflected  in  the  glass.  Without 
turning  she  put  up  her  arms,  and  laying  her 
head  back  on  his  shoulder  said,  eagerly  : 

"  My  dear,  dear  father,  do  let  us  be  recon- 
ciled." 

Clouds  and  moodiness  melted  from  his  hand- 
some features  as  he  bent  over  her  an  instant, 
kissing   her    fondly ;    then  his  hands   passed 


MACARIA. 


127 


swiftly  over  lier  neck,  an  icy  shower  fell  upon 
it,  and  slie  was  clothed  with  light. 

"  My  beautiful  child,  wear  your  diamonds 
as  a  seal  of  peace.  I  can't  let  you  have  the 
Pine  street  lot  —  I  want  it  for  a  diflerent 
purpose ;  but  I  will  give  you  three  acres  on 
the  edge  of  town,  near  the  depot,  for  your 
a.syluni  whim.  It  is  a  better  location  every 
way  for  your  project." 

*'  Thank  you,  father.  Oh  1  thank  you,  more 
than  words  can  express." 

She  turned  her  lips  to  one  of  the  hands  still 
lingering  on  her  shoulder. 

"  Irene,  look  at  yourself.  Diana  of  Ephesus ! 
what  a  blaze  of  glory  !" 

"  Father,  it  would  not  require  much  stretch 
of  imagination  to  believe  that,  by  some  deseen- 
dental  metempsychosis,  I  had  become  an  ex- 
humed member  of  the  sacred  gnomides,  torn 
ruthlessly  from  my  sisterhood  in  t'erro  do 
Frio  or  the  cold  dreary  caverns  of  the  Aga- 
thyrsi." 

"  The  metamorphosis  is  not  sufficiently  com- 
plete without  your  bracelets.  Put  them  on 
and  come  liowu  ;  the  carriage  is  ready.  Where 
is  your  bouquet-holder  ?  Give  it  to  me  ;  I  will 
fasten  the  tl'owers  in,  while  you  draw  on  your 
gloves.' 

Two  days  before,  the  marriage  of  Charles 
Harris  and  Maria  Henderson  had  been  cele- 
brated with  considerable  pomp,  and  the  party 
to-night  was  given  in  honor  of  the  event  by 
Mrs.  Churchhill,  a  widowed  sister  of  Judge 
Harris.  She  had  spent  several  years  in  Pans, 
superintending  the  education  of  a  daughter, 
whom  she  had  recently  brought  home  to  reside 

near  her  uncle,  and  dazzle  all  W with 

her  accomplishments. 

At  ten  o'clock  there  stood  beneath  the  gas- 
lights in  her  elegant  parlor  a  human  fleshy 
antithesis, upon  which  all  eyes  were  riveted — 
Salome  Churchhill — a  dark  imperious  beauty, 
of  the  Cleopatra  type,  with  very  full  crimson 
lips,  passionate  or  pouting  as  occasion  demand- 
ed; brilliant  black  eyes  that,  like  August  days, 
burned,  dcvvless  and  unclouded,  a  steady  blaze  ; 
thick  shining  black  hair  elaborately  curled, 
and  a  rich  tropical  complexioi ,  clear  and 
glowing  as  the  warm  blood  that  pulsed  through 
her  rounded  graceful  form.  She  wore  a  fleecy 
fabric,  topaz-^-olored,  with  black  lace  trim- 
mings ;  yellow  roses  gemmed  her  hair,  and 
topaz  and  ruby  ornaments  clasped  her  throat 
and  arms.  An  Eastern  queen  she  looked, 
exacting  universal  homa;Te,  and  full  of  fiery 
jealousy  whenever  her  eyes  fell  upon  one  who 
stood  just  opposite.  A  statuesque  face,  pure 
and  calm  as  any  ever  cut  trom  Pentelic 
quarry,  and  cold  as  its  dews — the  delicately- 
carved  features  borrowing  no  color  from  the 
glare  around  her,  the  polished  shoulders  and 
perfect  arms  gleaming  frigidly  in  the  rainbow- 
light  of  her  diamonds,  and  the  bronze  hair 
caught  up  by  a  pearl  comb,  with  here  and 
there    a  cluster   of   clematis   bells  drooping 


toward  her  neck.  Irene's  dress  was  an  airy 
blue  tulle,  flounced  to  the  waist,  and  without 
trimming  save  the  violet  and  clematis  clusters. 
Never  had  her  rare  beauty  been  more  resplen- 
dent—  more  dazzlingly  chilly  ;  it  seemed  the 
glitter  of  an  arctic  iceberg  lit  by  some  low 
midnight  sun,  and,  turn  whither  she  would,  fas- 
cinated groups  followed  her  steps.  Salome's 
reputation  as  a  brilliant  belle  had  become 
extended  since  Irene's  long  seclusion,  yet 
to-night,  on  the  re-appearance  of  the  latter,  it 
was  apparent  to  even  the  most  obtuse  that 
she  resumed  her  sway  —  the  matchless 
cynosura'  of  that  social  system.  Fully  con- 
scious of  the  intense  admiration  she  e.xcited, 
she  moved  slowly  from  room  to  room,  smiling 
once  or  twice  when  she'  met  her  lather's 
proud  look  ot  fond  triumph  fixed  upon  her. 

Leaning  against  the  window  1o  rest,  while 
Charles  Harris  went  in  search  of  a  gla-ss  of 
water,  she  heard  her  name  pronounced  by 
some  one  on  the  gallecy. 

"  They  say  Irene  Huntingdon  is  positively 
going  to  marry  Bainbridgc.  Splendid  match 
both  sides.  Won't  she  shine  at  the  governor's 
mansion  "?  I  wonder  if  she  really  grieved 
much  lor  Seymour?  How  perfectly  lovely 
she  is ;  and  Huntingdon  is  so  proud  of  her. 
By  the  way,  Is'eal,  have  you  heard  the  last 
gossij)  y" 

"  About  whom  ?  I  have  been  away  a  month, 
you  nmst  remember,  and  am  behind  the  times. 
Do  tell  me." 

"  AVell,  the  very  latest  report  is  that,  after 
all,  Aubrey  never  fancied  Grace  Harris,  as 
the  quidnuncs  asserted — never  addressed  her, 
or  anybody  else — but  is  now  sure  enough  about 
to  bear  off  belle  Salome,  the  new  prize,  right 
in  the  face  of  twenty  rivals.  I  should  really 
like  to  hear  of  something  which  that  man  could 
not  do,  if  he  set  himself  to  work  in  earnest.  I 
wonder  whether  it  ever  recurs  to  him  that  he 
once  stood  behind  Jacob  Watson's  counter  ?' 

"But  Aubrey js  not  here  to-nisjht.  Does 
not  afl'ect  parties,  I  believe  V" 

"  Rarely  shows  himself;  but  you  mistako ; 
he  came  in  not  twenty  minutes  ago,  and  you 
should  have  seen  what  I  saw — the  rare-ripe  red 
deepen  on  Salome's  cheeks  wheh  he  ^poke  to 
her." 

Irene  moved  away  from  the  window,  and 
soon  after  was  about  to  accompany  Charlie  Zo 
the  hall,  when  Air.  Bainbridge  came  up  and 
claimed  her  hand  for  the  cotillon  Ibnning  in 
the  next  room.  As  they  took  their  places  oa 
the  floor,  she  saw  that  Salome  and  Russell 
would  be  vis-a-vis.  With  an  eifort  she  raised 
her  eyes  to  those  of  the  man  whom  she  had 
seen  last  at  Hugh's  bier ;  he  drooped  his  head 
very  slightly,  she  inclined  hers;  then  the  band 
smote  tla-ir  instruments,  violin  and  piano,  and 
the  crash  of  music  filled  the  house. 

Irene  moved  mechanically  tlirough  the  airy 
mazes  of  the  dance,  giving  apparent  attention 
to  the  low-toned,  hall'- whispered  observation! 


iM 


128 


MACARIA. 


of  her  devoted  partner,  but  straining  ber  ear 
to  catc'li  the  mellow  voice  which  uttered  such 
gracolul  fascinating  nothings  to  Salome.  Sev- 
eral times  in  the  course  of  the  cotillon  UusseU'ij 
hand  clasped  hers,  but  even  then  he  avoided 
looking  at  her,  and  seemed  engrossed  in  con- 
versation with  liis  gay  partner.  Once  Irene 
looked  up  steadily,  and  as  she  noted  the 
expression  with  which  he  regarded  his  com- 
panion she  wondered  no  longer  at  the  rumor 
she  had  heard,  and  acknowledged  to  herselt' 
that  they  were,  indeed,  a  handsome  couj)le. 
Dr.  Ariiuld,  whom  Mrs.  Chiirclihill  had  coaxed 
into  "hhowing  himself,"  had  curiously  watched 
this  meeting,  and  observing  Russell's  marked 
attentions,  puzzled  over  the  question  :  "  Does 
he  really  care  lor  that  fire -fly,  or  is  he  only 
trying  to  make  Irene  jealous  V"  lie  looked 
long  and  earnestly  at  both,  then  sighed  heavi- 
ly. What  did  thai  haughty  blue-rol)ed  woman 
know  of  jealousy  y  How  absurd  such  a  sug- 
gestion seemed  when  she  turned  her  smiling 
passionless  face  full  upon  him.  The  dance 
ended  ;  Irene  found  herself  seated  on  a  sola  at 
the  window  of  the  deserted  library,  and  Kus- 
sell  and  Salome  walked  slowly  up  and  down 
the  vui-anda  in  front  of  it.  Mr.  Bainbridgc 
had  manieuvred  lor  this  opportunity,  and,  seat- 
ed beside  Irene,  he  eagerly  and  eloquently  | 
pleaded  his  cause,  assuring  her  of  a  devotion 
which  should  know  no  diminution,  and  cmpha- 
Bizing  the.  fact  that  he  had  possessed  himself 
of  her  lather's  sanction. 

She  made  no  attempt  to  interrupt  him,  but 
sat  erect  and  motionless,  with  one  hand  par- 
tially siiit'lding  her  face,  and  the  other  pressed 
hard  against  her  heart,  where  a  dull  continual 
pain  was  gnawing.  Every  few  minutes  Russell 
passed  the  window,  his  noble  head  bent  down 
to  the  beautiful  companion  on  his  arm.  Irene 
could  see  the  outline  of  his  features  distinctly, 
and  her  soul  sickened  as  she  watched  him  and 
reasoned  concerning  the  future.  He  would 
probably  many  somebody,  and  why  not  Sa- 
lome V  She  could  not  expect  him  to  remain 
•  ingle  always,  and  ho  could  never  be  more 
than  a  stranger  to  her.  Alter  his  marriage, 
'  what  a  blank  her  life  would  be;  to  love  hnn 
etill  would  be  sinful.  She  moved  her  fingers 
slightly  and  looked  fixedly  at  the  handsome 
man  beside  her,  entreating  her  to  give  him  the 
privilege  of  making  her  life  happy.  For  an 
instant  she  wavered.  The  world  held  nothing 
for  her  but  dreariness  at  best;  she  was  weary 
of  alienation  and  contention;  why  not  accede 
to  her  father's  wishes,  and  thus  repair  the 
grievous  disappointment  of  other  days?  Wil- 
liam Bainbridgc  loved  her,  and  perhaps  if  she 
were  his  wife  the  sanctity  of  her  vows  might 
strengthen  her  in  tearing  another  image  from 
her  heart.  She  took  her  future  in  the  palm  of 
her  hand,  and  pondered.  At  this  moment  the 
couple  on  the  veranda  paused  in  front  of  the 
window,  to  allow  the  promenading  crowd  to 
pass,  and  Russell  looked  in,  with  a  brilliant 


smile  on  his  countenance.  It  seemed  to  mock 
her,  with  a  "Marry  him  if  you  dare!"  Th« 
two  passed  on  into  the  parlors,  and  closing  her 
eyes  a  moment,  as  if  shutting  out  some  hideoui 
vjjion,  Irene  briefly,  but  firmly  and  irrevoca- 
bly, deulined  the  flattering  oiler;  and  riidng, 
left  him  with  his  disappointment.  She  looked 
about  tor  Dr.  Arnold,  but  he  had  disappeared ;  , 
her  father  was  deep  in  a  game  of  euchre. ;  and 
as  she  crossed  the  hall  she  was  surprised  to  sew 
I'hiiip  leaning  against  the  door -facing,  aD<i 
j)eering  curiously  ii\to  the  parlors. 
"I'hilip.  what  are  you  doing  here?" 
"  Oh,  Miss  Irene!  I  have  been  hunting  for 
you  ever  so  long.  Mrs.  Davis  is  dying,  and 
Susan  sent  me  after  you.  I  went  to  your 
house  two  hours  ago,  and  they  said  you  wer« 
here.  I  ran  back  and  told  mother  you  could 
not  come.  But  Mrs.  Davis  worried  so,  they 
sent  me  here.  She  says  she  .won't  die  in  peac^ 
unless  she  sees  you.  She  wrung  her  hands, 
and  asked  me  if  you  would  not  have  tima 
enough  to  go  to  parties  when  she  was  in  her 
grave  V     Will  you  come,  ma'm  V" 

"  Of  course.  Philip,  find  Andrew  and  th« 
carriage,  and  I  will  meet  you  at  the  sido  door 
in  five  minutes."  " 

Slie  went  to  the  dressing-room,  asked  for 
pencil  and  paper,  and  wrote  a  few  lines,  which 
she  directed  the  servant  to  hand  immediately 
to  her  father — found  her  shawl,  and  stcjle  down 
to  the  side  door.  She  saw  the  dim  outline  of  a 
form  sitting  on  the  step,  in  the  shadow  of  clus- 
tering vines,  and  asked  : 

"  Is  that  you,  Thilip  V     I  am  ready." 
The  figure  rose,  came  forward  into  the  light, 
hut  in  hand,  and  both  started  visibly. 

"  I'ardon  me,  Mr.  Aubrey.     1  mistook  you 
in  the  darkness  for  ar.other." 
Here  IMiilip  ran  up  Xho  steps. 
"  Miss  Irene,  Andrew  says  he  can't  get  to 
the  side  gate  for  the  carriag^es.     lie  is  at  tht) 
front  entrance." 

"  Can  I  assist  you.  Miss  Huntingdon  '?" 
"  Tliank  you  ;  no." 
"  May.l  ask  if  you  are  ill  ?" 
"  Kot  in  the  least — but  I  am  suddenly  called 
away."       ^, 

She  passed  him,  and  accompanied  Philip  to 
the  carriage.  A  few  minutes  rapid  driving 
brought  them  to  the  Row,  and,  diiectin^  An- 
drew to  return  and  wait  lor  her  father,  Irene 
entered  the  low  small  chamber  where  a  human 
soul  was  pluming  itself  for  its  final  flight  home. 
The  dying  woman  knew  her  even  then  in  th« 
fierce  throes  of  dissolution,  and  the  sunken 
eyes  beamed  as  she  bent  over  the  pillow. 

*'  God  bless  you !  1  knew  you  would  come. 
My  children — what  will  become  of  them  ? 
Will  you  take  care  of  them  ?  Tell  me  quick." 
"  Put  your  mind  at  rest,  Mrs.  Davis.  I 
will  see  that  your  children  are  well  cared  for 
in  every  respect." 

"Promise  me!"  gasped  the  poor  sufferer, 
j  clutching  the  jewelled  arm. 


MACARIA. 


12* 


"  I  do  promise  you  most  solemnly  that  I  will 
watch  over  tliem  constantly.  They  shall 
never  want  so  long  as  I  live.  Will  you  not 
believe  mc;,  and  calm  yourself?" 

A  ghastly  smile  trembled  over  the  distorted 
features,  and  she  bowed  her  bead  in  assent. 
Irene  jjoured  some  cordial  into  a  glass  and  put 
it  to  her  lips,  but  she  refused  the  drauglit,  and, 
joining  her  emaciated  hands,  muttered,  halt- 
inaudibly  : 

"  Pray  for  me  once  more.  Oh  1  pray  for 
me,  my.  best  friend." 

Kneeling  on  the  bare  floor  in  the  midst  of  a 
Bobbing  group.  Irene  prayed  long  and  earnest- 
ly, and  gradually,  as  her  sweet  voice  rolled 
through  the  room,  a  peaceful  look  settled  on 
the  d}ing  mother's  face.  At  last  the  petition 
ended  and  silence  reigned,  broken  only  by  the 
nmothered  sobs  of  Susan  and  little  Johnnie, 
who  clung  to  Irene's  hand  and  buried  his  face 
in  her  dress  as  she  still  knelt  at  the  bedside. 

"Airs.  Davis,  don't  you  feel  that  you  will 
•oon  be  at  rest  with  God  V" 

"  Yes — I  am  going  home  happy — happy." 

She  closed  her  eyes  and  whispered: 

'*  Sing  my — hymn — once — more." 

Making  a  great  effort  to  crush  her  own 
feelings,  Irene  sang  the  simple  but  touching 
words  of  '•Home  Again,"  and  though  her  voice 
faltered  now  and  then,  she  sang  it  through — 
knowing,  from  the  expression  ol' the  suflerer's 
lace,  that  the  spirit  was  passing  to  its  endless 
rest. 

It  was  a  strange  scene.  The  poverty  of  the 
room — the  emaiiated  form,  with  sharp,  set 
features — the  magnificently  beautiful  woman 
kneeling  th«re  in  her  costly  festal  robes,  with 
the  light  of  the  tallow  candle  flickering  over 
her  diamonds,  setting  her  neck  and  arms  on 
fire — ^^and  the  weeping  girl  and  wailing  curly- 
haired  boy,  whose  tearful  face  was  hidden  in 
the  full  llounces  of  blue  tulle.  "  Passing 
strange,"  thought  the  proud  man  of  the  world, 
who  had  followed  her  from  the  scenes  of  fes- 
tivity, and  now  stood  in  the  door-way  listening, 
with  hu»hed  breath,  to  the  prayer  she  had  put 
up,  to  the  words  of  the  hymn  she  had  sung  so 
•orrowfully,  and  gazing  in  silent  adoration 
upon  the  face  and  form  of  the  kneeling 
vTOiuan.  Now  one  of  the  beautiful  arms  stole 
around  the  trembling  child  who  clung  to  her 
so  tenaciously,  and  she  gently  lifted  the  chest- 
But  curls  Irom  his  flushed  face. 

"  Don't  sob  so,  Johnnie.  Your  mother  is  in 
heaven,  where  there  is  no  sorrow,  or  sickness, 
or  trouble.  She  will  be  very  happy  there; 
and  if  you  are  aS  good  and  patient  as  she  was, 
Tou  will  meet  her  in  heaven  wken  God  calls 
jou  to  die." 

"  Oh  1  is  she  dead  ?  Miss  Irene,  is  my 
mother  dead  V" 

"  M}-  dear  little  boy,  she  has  gone  to  our 
Father  in  heaven,  who  will  make  her  happier 
tixin  she  could  possibly  be  in  this  world." 

A  pasjiionattt  burst  of  sorrow  followed  the 


discovery  of  the  melancholy  truth,  and  rising 
from  the  floor  Irene  seated  herself  on  a  chair, 
taking  the  child  on  her  lap,  and  soothing  his 
violent  grief.  Too  young  to  realize  his  loss,  he 
was  easily  comforted,  and  after  a  time  grew 
quiet.  She  directed  Su.san  to  take  him  into 
the  nt^xt  room  and  jiut  him  on  his  pallet ;  and 
when  she  had  exchanged  a  few  wprds  with 
Pliilip's  mother  about  the  disposition  of  the 
rigid  sleeper,  she  turned  to  quit  the  apartment, 
and  saw  Russell  standing  on  the  threshold. 
Had  the  dead  mother  suddenly  stepped  before 
her  she  would  scarcely  have  b^eu  more  as- 
toni.shed  and  startled. 

lie  e.\tended  one  hand,  and  hastily  taking 
hers,  drew  her  to  the  door  of  the  narrow  dark 
hall,  where  the  newly-risen  moon  shone  in. 

"  Come  out  of  this  charnel-house  into  th« 
pure  air  once  move.  Do  not  shrink  back — 
trust  yourself  with  me  this  once,  at  least." 

The  brick  walls  of  the  factory  rose  a  hundred 
yards  oif  in  full  view  of  the  Row,  and  leading 
her  along  the  river  bank  he  placed  her  on  one 
of  the  mas.'^ive  stone  steps  of  the  building. 

"  What  brought  you  here  to-night,  Mr. 
Aubrey  V" 

"An  unpardonable  curiosity  concerning 
your  sudden  di'parture — an  unconquerable  de- 
sire to  speak  to  you  once  more.". 

"  You  witnessed  a  melancholy  scene." 

"  Yes — melancholy  indeed  ;  but  not  half  80 
sad  as  one  which  memory  held  before  me  while 
I  watched  yonder  jiale  corpse  grow  rigid. 
The  veil  of  the  past  was  rent,  aud  I  stood 
again  over  my  own  dead  mother.  For  me 
there  is  no  Lethe.  In  memorlam  creeps  in 
sombre  characters  over  all  that  I  look  upon." 

A  waning  June  moon,  in  its  last  quarter, 
struggled  feebly  up  the  eastern  sky,  "hounded 
by  a  lew  dim  stars,"  and  the  spectral  light  fell 
like  a  dying  smile  upon  the  silent  scene  —  the 
broad  swift  river  Hashing  below,  champing 
with  foamy  lips  on  the  rocky  bit  that  barroi^ 
its  current,  and  breaking  into  shimmering 
silver  cataracts  as  it  leaped  triumphantly  over 
a  gray  ledge  of  granite  and  thundered  down 
into  the  basin  lieyond,  churning  itself  into 
diamond  spray,  that  wreathed  and  Huttered  in 
gleaming  thread.s  like  a  bridal  veil  streaming 
on  some  mild  ilay  breeze.  The  shining  s\idSia 
of  water  gave  back  the  ghastly  liglit  as  huge 
mirrors  might,  and  from  the  dark  depths  of 
foliage  on  the  opposite  bank  and  the  lolly 
aisles  of  pine-elad  hills  stretching  I'ar  westward 
and  overtopping  all,  the  deep  solemn  monulone 
of  the  everlasting  fall  echoed  and  re-echoed, 
chanting  to  the  quiet  night  a  sacred  "  in  cetlo 
quies." 

Standing  with  uncovered  bead  in  the  weird 
light,  Russell's  piercing  eyes  were  fixed  on  his 
companion. 

"  You  do  not  know  why  I  came  here,  Miss 
Huntingdon  V" 

'•  You  told  me  why." 

"  No.     But  you  shall  know.     I  came  here 


130 


MACARIA. 


overmastered  br  «ome  '  Iiirp  of  the  Perverse,' 
led  by  an  irresistible  desire  to  see  you  alone, 
to  look  at  you,  to  tell  you  wLat  I  have  almost 
sworn  should  never  pass  my  lijis — what  you 
may  consider  unmanly  weakness — nay,  insani- 
ty, on  my  part.  We  arc  face  to  face  at  last, 
man  and  woman,  with  the  golden  bars  of  con- 
ventionalitv  and  worldly  distinction  snapped 
asunder.  I  am  no  lonijer  the  man  whom 
society  would  fain  flatter,  in  atonement  for 
past  injustice  ;  and  I  choose  to  forjjet,  for  the 
time,  that  you  are  the  daughter  of  my  bitterest 
deadly  foe — my  persistent  persecutor.  I  re- 
member nothing  now  but  the  crowned  days 
of  our  childhood,  the  rosy  dawn  of  my  man- 
hood, where  your  golden  head  .shone  my  Morn- 
ing Star.  I  hurl  away  all  barriers,  and  remember 
only  the  one  dream  of  my  life — my  deathless, 
unwavering  love  for  you.  Oh,  Irene  !  Irene  ! 
■why  have  you  locked  that  rigid  cold  face  of 
yours  against  me  ?  In  the  hallowed  days  of 
eld  you  nestled  your  dear  hands  into  mine, 
and  pressed  your  curls  against  my  cheek,  and 
g.ire  me  comfort  in  your  pure,  warm,  girli.^ii 
affection  ;  how  can  you  snatch  your  frozen 
fingers  from  mine  now,  as  though  my  touch 
■were  contamination  ?  -Be  yourself  once  more 
— give  me  one  drop  from  the  old  o^'er-llowing 
fountain.  I  am  a  lonely  man  ;  and  my  proud 
bitter  heart  hungers  for  one  of  your  gentle 
words,  one  of  your  sweet,  priceless  smiles. 
Irene,  look  at  me  !     Give  it  to  me  !" 

He  sat  down  on  the  step'  at  her  feet,  and 
raised  his  dark  magnetic  face,  glowing  with 
the  love  which  had  so  long  burned  undimmed, 
his  lofty  full  Ibrehead  wearing  a  strange  flush. 

She  dared  not  meet  his  eye,  and  drooped 
her  head  On  her  palms,  shrinking  from  the 
scorching  furnace  of  trial,  whose  red  jaws 
yawned  to  receive  her.  He  waited  a  moment, 
and  bis  low,  mellow  voice  rose  to  a  stormy 
key. 

"Irene,  you  are  kind  and  merciful  to  the 
poor  wretches  in  the  Row.  Poverty  —  nay, 
criite,  does  not  frighttm  away  your  compassion 
for  th«ni ;  why  are  you  hard  and  cruelly 
haughty  only  to  me  V" 

"  lou  do  not  need  my  sympathy,  Mr. 
Aubrey,  and  congratulations  on  your  great 
fucce.ss  would  not  come  gracefully  from  my 
lips.  Most  unfortunate  fibstacles  long  since 
rendered'  all  intercourse  between  us  impossi- 
ble, still  ni_v  feeling  for  you  has  undergoin;  no 
change.     1  am,  I  assure  you,  still  your  friend." 

It  cost  her  a  powerful  cflbrt  to  utter  these 
words,  and  her  voice  took  a  metalli<;  tone 
utterly  foreign  to  it.  Her  heart  writ^ied  and 
bled  and  moaned  in  the  gripe  qf  her  steely 
purpose,  but  she  endured  all  calmly — relaxing 
jiot  one  jot  of  her  bitter  resolution. 

'•  My  fritnd  !  Mockery  !  God  defend  ma 
from  luch  henceforth.  Irene.  I  looked  at  you 
to-night  in  all  your  wonderful,  incomparable 
loToline.ss,  as  you  hung  upon  the  arm  of  your 
acknowledged    lover,  and   the   possibility    of 


j  your  becoming  that  man's  wife  ab.solutely 
maddened   me.     I    felt    that   I   could    never 

j  endure  that  horrible  reality,  and  I  resolved  to 

;  know    the    truth.      Other    lips    deceive,    but 

I  yours  never  can.  Tell  me,  have  you  promised 
your   hand  to    Bainbridge  V     Will    you  ever 

I  give  it  to  him  V" 

"  Such  questions.  Mr.  Aubrey,  you  liare  no 

'  right  to  propound." 

i  "  Right  I  does  my  worshi[)ping  love  give  me 
no  right  to  relieve  myuell  from  torture,  if  pos- 
sible ?  Oh !  relentless,  beautiful  idul,  that 
you  are !  I  have  cheated  myi^elf  with  a 
licavenly  dream — have  hugged  to  my  soul  the 
hope  that,  after  all,  I  was  more  to  you  than 
you  designed  to  show — that  far  down  in  your 
proud  heart  you,  too,  cherished  memories  of 
other  days.  Irene,  you  loved  me  once — nay," 
don't  deny  it  I  You  need  not  blush  for  tha 
early  folly  which,  it  seems,  you  have  interred 
so  deepl}' ;  and  though  you  scorn  to  meet  me 
even  as  an  ecjual,  I  know,  I  feel,  that  I  am 
wgrthy  of  your  love — that  I  comprehend  your 
strange  nature  as  no  one  else  ever  will — that, 
had  such  a  privilege  been  accorded  me,  I  could 
have  kindled  your  heart,  and  made  yon 
supremely     happy.      Cursed     barriers     have 

I  divided  us  always ;  -fate  denied  me  my  right. 

I  I  have  sutTered  many  things;  but  does  it  not 

I  argue,  at  least,  in  favor  of  my  love,  that  it  has 

I  survived  all  tlie  trials  to  which  your  father's 
hate  has  subjected  meV  To-night  I  could 
forgive  him  all  I  all!  if  I  knew  that  he  had  not 
so  successfully  hardened,  closed  your  heart 
against  me.  My  soul  is  full  of  bitterness 
which  would  move  you,  if  one  trait  of  your 

i  cirlish  nature  remained.  But  you  are  not  my 
Irene  !  The  world's  queen,  the  dazzling  idol 
of  the  ball-room,  is  not  my  blue-eyed,  angelic 
Irene  of  old!  I  will  intrude  upon  you  no 
longer.  Try  at  least  not  to  despite  me  for  my 
folly  ;  I  will  crush  it;  and  if  you  deign  to  re- 
member me  at  all  m  future,  tliink  of  a  man 
who  laughs  at  his  own  idiotcy,  and  strives  to 
forget  that  he  ever  believed  there  lived  on« 
woman  who  would  be  true  to  her  own  heart, 
even  though  the  heavens  fell  and  the  world 
passed  away  !" 

Up  rose  ])artially,  but  her  hand  fell  quickly 

i  upon  his  shoulder,  and  the  bowed  face  lifted 

i  itself,    stainless   as  starry  jasmines  bathed  in 

1  equatorial  dews. 

"  Mr.  Aubrey,  you    are  too    severe    upon 

j  yourself,  and  v«ry  unjust  to  me.  The  circum- 
stances which  conspired  to  alienate  us  were 
far  beyond  my  control ;  I  regret  them  as  sin- 
cerely as  you  possibly  can,  but  as  unavailingly. 
If  I  have  individually  occasioned  you  sorrow 

I  or  disappointment,  God  knows  it  was  no  fault 
of  mine  I     We  stand  on  the  opposite  shores  of 

!  a  dark,  bridgeless  gulf;  but  before  wo  turn 
away  to  be  henceforth  strangers,  I  stretch  ©ut 
my  hand  to  you  in  friendly  farewell — deeply 
regretting  the  pain  which  I  may  have  inno- 
ceutlj- caused  you,  and  asking  y^our  forgiveness. 


MACARIA. 


131 


Mr.  Aubrey,  remember  me  as  I  was,  not  as  I 
am.  Gooc^-by,  my  frieud.  M;iy  God  bless 
you  in  coi'iing  years,  and  crown  your  life  with 
the  haj)piatiss  you  merit,  is  the  earnest  prayer 
of  my  heart." 

.  The  rare  blue  cord  on  her  brow  told  how 
fiercely  the  lava -flood  surged  under  its  icy 
bands,  and  the  blanched  lip  matched  her 
cheek  in  colorlessness  ;  save  these  tokens  of 
anguish,  no  other  was  visible. 

Kussell  drew  down  the  hand  from  his 
shoulder,  and  folded  it  in  both  his  own. 

'*  Irene,  are  we  to  walk  dillerent  paths 
henceforth — utter  strangers  ?  Is  such  your 
willV" 

'•  Such  is  the  necessity,  which  must  be  as 
apparent  to  you  as  to  me.  Do  not  doubt  my 
friendship,  Mr.  Aubrey  ;  but  doubt  the  pro- 
priety of  my  parading  it  before  the  world." 

He  bent  his  cheek  down  on  her  cold  hand, 
then  raised  it  to  his  lips  once,  twice — laid  it 
back  on  her  lap,  and,  ^kiug  his  hat,  walked 
away  toward  town. 

Two  blithe  crickets  chirped  merrily  some- 
where in  the  brick  pavement  round  the  door  ; 
a  solitary  mocking-bird,  perched  on  the  limb  of 
a  neighboring  chma-tree,  warbled  his  «weot 
varied  notes  as  if  in  answer;  the  mellow 
diapason  of  the  falls  rose  soothingly  over  all, 
and  the  blue-robed  woman  sat  still  as  the  stone 
steps  of  the  factory,  watching  the  vanishing 
dying  sparkles  of  a  crystal  draught  of  joy 
which  fate  had  rudely  dashed  at  her  feet, 
sternly  denying  the  parched  eager  lips. 

For  some  time  she  remained  just  as  Russell 
had  left  her,  then  the  white  arms  and  drj-  eyes 
were  raised  to  the  midnight  sky. 

"  My  God  !  my  God  !  strengthen  me  in  my 
desolation  !"' 

She  put  back  the  folds  of  hair  that,  damp 
with  dew,  clung  to  her  gleaming  temples,  and 
recrossing  the  wide  road  or  street,  entered 
the  chamber  of  death.  Low  -  spoken  words 
crept  to  and  fro  between  Mrs.  Martin  and  two 
middle-aged,  sad-faced  women  of  the  Kow,  who 
Bat  around  the  candle  on  the  little  pine  table, 
clipping  and  scalloping  a  jaconet  shroud.  As 
Irene  approached  the  scissors  rested,  and  all 
looked  up. 

"  Where  is  Philip,  Mrs.  Martin  ?  I  shall 
ask  him  to  walk  home  with  me,  and  not  wait  for 
the  carriage." 

"I  expect  he  is  aslecf.  Miss  Irene  —  but  I 
will  wake  him." 

"You  need  not;  I  think  1  hear  wheels. 
Yea  ;  they  are  coming  for  me.  Mrs.  Martin, 
1  will  see  you  about  Susan  and  Johnnie  to- 
morrow or  next  day ;  meantime,  I  leave  them 
in  your  care.     Good-ni^ljt." 

"  What  a  white  angt^  she  is  ! — almost  as 
pale  as  the  poor  creature  on  the  bed  yonder, 
i'catch  my  breath  som«timea  when  she  looks 
like  she  did  just  now." 

All  three  sighed  simmltaiueously,  and  the 
dull  click,  click,  began  again. 


It  was  rtot  the  carriage  which  Irene  met  at 
the  door,  but  Dr.  Arnold's  buggy. 

"  Irene,  are  you  ready  to  go  home  ?" 

"  Y\'S.     Mrs.  Davi.?  is  dead." 

''As  I  was  leaving  Mrs.  Churchhill's  your 
father  told  me  where  you  were,  and  I  thought 
I  would  come  after  you.  Put  on  your  shawl 
and  jump  in.  Y'ou  are  in  a  pretty  plight, 
truly,  to  stand  over  a  death-bed  !  '  Vanity  of 
vanities  !  all  is  vanity  !'  Here,  let  me  wrap 
that  gauze  cloud  around  your  head.  Now 
then  !" 

The  top  of  the  buggy  had  been  lowered,  and 
as  they  rode  homeward  she  leaned  her  head 
back,  turning  her  face  to  the  sickly  moonlight. 

"  Irene,  did  Aubrey  come  u])  here  with 
you  ?" 

''  No,  sir.  He  was  at  the  Row  for  a  while, 
however.     Y'^ou  must  have  met  him  returnin<T." 

"  I  dill  ;  what  did  he  want  here  ?*! 

"  You  must  ask  him,  if  you  are  curious.  It 
is  no  business  of  either  yours  or  mine  to  watch 
his  movements." 

"  I  wonder  he  was  able  to  tear  himself  from 
that  brown  Sybil,  Salome.  What  a  splendid 
dark  pair  they  will  be  some  day,  when  be 
makes  her  Mrs.  Aubrey  !" 

Surgeon -like,  he  was  pressing  his  finger 
heavily  on  the  wound,  but  no  flinching  could 
be  detected — no  moan  of  pain  ;  and  he  was 
startled  by  a  singular  short,  quick  laugh,  which 
sounded  to  his  ear  like  the  sudden  snapping 
of  a  musical  string.  It  was  the  first  time  he 
had  heard  her  laugh  since  her  return  from 
New  York. 

"  Sage  of  Sinope  !  how  lung  since  your 
transmigration  into  a  latter-day  uc  ws-nionger  V" 

"News-monger  be  hanged!  It  is  a  trans- 
parent fact  tiiat  Aubrey  intends  to  marry  the 
daughter  of  Herodias.  Don't  you  believe  it, 
Irene  V" 

"Doctor,  I  believe  I  have  dropped  my 
bouquet -holder.  I  am  sorry  to  give  you  so 
much  trouble,  but  uncle  Eric  bought  it  for  me 
in  Geneva,  and  I  should  dislike  to  lose  it.  Give 
me  the  reins.  Y'^onder  it  is,  in  the  sand — I  see 
its  glitter." 

Fulminating  inaudible  plagues  on  the  chased 
silver  toy,  the  doctor  picked  it  up  and  placed' 
it  in  her  hand. 

"  Drop  yourself  out  next,  won't  you,  when 
you  have  another  question  to  dodge  ?" 

"What  is  the  matter?  Who  has  fretted 
you,  sir  V  W^erc  you  cheated  out  of  your 
suj)per  by  coming  after  me  V" 

"  You  fret  me  beyond  all  patience — slipping 
everlastingly  through  my  finders.  Child, 
answer  me  one  thing  truly  :  arc  you  going  to 
mar]^  Bainbridge,  as  everybody  believes,  and 
as  Jvconard  led  me  to  suppose  ?" 

"  No,  Dr.  Arnold ;  1  shall  never  marry  Mr. 
Bainbridge." 

"  If  he  does  not  suit  your  fastidious  taste, 
pray  who  will,  Queen  ?" 

"  You  might,  perhaps,  if  you  were  thirty- 


132 


MACARIA. 


five  years  younger,  and  a  trifle  less  surly. 
Doctor,  tome  in,  and  let  uie  give  you  a  ghtss  of 
wine  ;  it  is  very  late,  and  you  miibt  be  tired." 

'*  .No — but  I  will  light  my  pipo  at  the  hall- 
lamp." 

They  went  into  the  house,  and  as  he  filled 
and  lighted  his  pipe  his  cavernous  eyes  ran 
curiously  over  her. 

"  llow  you  have  blazed  to-night?  Your 
diamond.s  are  superb." 

"  Yes,  .sir." 

"  Cio  to  .sleep  at  once,  child.  You  look  as  if 
you  had  seen  a  ghost.  What  has  knotted  up 
your  forehead  in  that  style  V" 

*'  1  have  looked  upon  a  melancholy  death 
t«-niglit,  and  have  seen  two  helpless  children 
orpiiaiicd.  Come  an<i  see  nie  soon  ;  I  want  to 
consult,  you  about  an  orphan-asylum  ibr  which 
father  has  given  me  a  lot.  Good-night,  sir ;  I 
am  Very  much  obliged  to  you  for  your  kindness 
in  bringing  me  home.  Kobody  else  is  half  so 
considerate  and  tiioughtlul." 

In  iier  own  room  she  took  off  the  jewels, 
withered  violets,  and  moist  tulle — and,  drawir.g 
on  her  (Ire.-si^ig-gown,  went  up  to  the  observa- 
tory, and  sat  down  on  the  threshold  of  one  of 
the  glass  doors  looking  i-astward. 

"Think  of  a  man  who  laughs  at  his  own 
idiotcy,  and  strives  to  forget  that  he  ever 
believed  there  lived  one  woman  who  would  be 
true  to  her  own  heart,  thoiigl\  the  heavens 
fell  and  the  world  passed  away  !" 

These  words  of  scorn  were  the  burning 
ahares  over  which  her  bare  feei  trod,  and  his 
bitter  accents  wailed  up  and  down  her  lonely 
heart,  mournful  as  the  ceaseless  cry  of  "  El 
Alma  Penliila"  in  moonless,  breezeless  Ama- 
Bonian  solitudes.  Through  the  remainder  of 
that  cloudless  night  she  wrestled  silently — not 
likethe  Jewish  patriarch,  with  angels — butwitii 
Desjjair,  grim  as  Geryon.  At  last,  when  the 
«ky  lluslied  rosily,  like  an  opal  smitten  with 
light,  and  holy  Resignation — the  blessing  born 
only  of  great  trial  like  hers — shed  its  heavenly 
chrism  over  the  worn  and  weary,  bruised  and 
bleeding  spirit,  she  gathered  up  the  mangled 
hopes  that  might  have  gladdened,  and  gilded, 
and  glorified  her  earthly  career,  and  pressing 
llic  ruins  to  her  heart,  laid  herself  meekly 
down,  oll'ering  all  upon  the  God-built  altar  of 
Filial  Obedience. 

In  the 

*        .        .        .         early  morninp,  ■vrlien  th«  ulr 
Was  delicate  with  sorae  iaat  iitnrrj  touub," 

fthc  opened  the  door  of  her  father's  room  and 
approached  the  bed.  The  noise  wakened 
liim,  and,  raising  himself  on  his  elbow,  he 
looked  wonderingly  at  her. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Irene?  You  look  as 
if  you  had  not  closed  your  eyes." 

"  Father,  you  took  me  in  your  arms  last 
night,  and  kissed  me  as  you  have  not  done 
before  for  years ;  but  I  feared  that  when  Mr. 
Baiubridge  told  you  what  passed  between  us 


at  Mrs.  Churchhill's,  you  would  igain  close 
your  heart  against  me.  Do  not !  >Ji,  do  not  I 
Because  I  prefer  to  remain  at  hom.  with  you 
rather  than  accept  his  brilli^Tnt  otl  «r,  ought 
you  to  love  me  less  ?  I  have  spent  a  sorrow- 
ful, a  wretched  night,  and,  like  a  weary  child, 
I  have  come  to  you  to  find  rest  for  my  heart. 
Oh,  lather  !  my  father !  do  not  cast  me  off 
again  !  Whom  have  I  in  the  world  but  you  '/ 
liy  the  memory  of  my  sainted  mother  I  ask — 
I  claim  your  love  !" 

"  You  are  a  strange  girl,  Irene;  I  never  did 
understand  you.  But  I  tlon't  want  to  drive 
you  from  me,  if  you  prefer  to  live  here  single. 
There  shall  be  peace  between  ns,  my  dear 
d.iiigiiter."  He  leaned  forward  and  laid  his 
hand  caressingly  on  her  hc.id,  as  siie  knelt  at 
his  bedside  pleading  with  uplilted  arms. 

"  And  her  f;iro  is  lily-rloi\r. 
L'ly  •liii|><-d  ami  droppeil  in  duty 
I'o  tlu!  law  of  itc  own  ln<nuty. 
And  II  ri>i'clie;ul,  fiir  itni  sHinlly, 
M'hifli  two  blue  eyes  nnciersliiue. 
Lilce  uieelc  prayfrs  befure  a  (hiiae.* 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

The  treacherous  four  years  lull  was  broken 
at  last  by  the  mutter  of  the  storm  which  was 
so  soon  to  sweep  over  the  nation,  prostrating 
all  interests,  and  bearing  desolation  to  almo«t 
every  hearthstone  in  our  once  happy,  smiling 
land  of  constitutional  freedom.  Sleepless 
watchmen  on  the  tower  of  Southern  Rights — 
faithlnl  gnanirans,  like  William  Jj.  Yancey, 
who  had  stood  Ibr  years  in  advance  of  public 
ojiinion,  lifting  tlieir  warning  voices  far  abova 
tiie  howling  waves  of  popular  i'a'tion  and 
party  strife,  pointing  to  the  only  path  of  safe- 
ty— now  discerned  the  cloud  u|)on  the  hori- 
zon, and  at  the  selection  of  delegates  to  tho 
Charleston  Convention  hedged  our  cause  with 
cautious  resolutions.  Among  the  number  ap- 
pointed was  Russell  Aubrey  ;  and  during  the 
tem[)estuous  debates  which  ushered  in  the  war 
of  IJSGl  his  earnest,  eloquent  pleadings  on  tho 
(juestion  of  a  platform  rang  through  his  state^ 
louciii^g  the  master-chonl  that  thrilled  re- 
sponsive in  the  great  heart  of  the  people- 
When  demagogism  triumphed  in  tliat  conven- 
tion, and  the  Democratic  party  was  rent  intb 
hopeless  fragments,  Russell  returned,  to  stump 
the  state  in  favor  of  the  only  candidate  whom 
he  believed  the  South  could  trust  with  her  lib- 
erties ;  and  during  the  arduous  campaign  that 
ensued,  he  gathered  fresh  laurels  and  won  a 
brilliant  reputation.  Aside  from  individual 
ambitious  j)rojects,  the  purest  pal  riolisui  nerv- 
ed him  to  his  ceaseless  labors.  He  was  deeply 
impressed  with  the  vital  consequenc(!s  of  the 
impending  election  ;  and  as  the  conviction 
forced  itself  upon  his  mind  that,  through  the 
demoralization  of  the  Northern  wing  of  De- 
mocracy, Lincoln  would  be  elected,  he  «n- 


MACARIA. 


133 


deavored  to  prepare  the  masses  for  that  final 
separation  w-'nch  he  foresaw  was  inevitable. 
Durinp  that  Ove  niontiis  campaign  faction, 
fanaticism,  ileinagogisra,  held  higli  revel — ran 
riot  t'.roui:!i  the  land.  Seward  cantered  to- 
ward Wasliington  on  the  hobby  labelled  Eman- 
cipation, dragging  Lincoln  at  his  heels;  and 
Breckinridge,  our  noble  standard-bearer,  with 
the  coii.stiiution  in  his  hand,  pressed  on  to  save 
the  sacred  precincts  of  the  capitol  from  pollu- 
tion. The  gauntlet  had  been  thrown  down  by 
the  South  at  Charleston  and  Baltimore  :  "  The 
election  of  a  sectional  president  Avill  be  the 
BJgnal  for  separation."  The  North  sneered  at 
the  threat,  derided  the  possibility,  and  in  fran- 
tic defiance  the  die  was  cast.  The  6th  of 
November  dawned  upon  a  vast  populous  em- 
pire, rich  in  every  resource,  capalde  of  the 
acme  of  human  greatness  and  prosperity, 
claiming  to  be  the  guardian  of  peaceful  liberty. 
It  set  upon  a  nation  rent  in  twain,  between 
whose  sections  j-awned  a  bottomless,  bridgeless 
gulf,  where  the  shining  pillars  of  the  temple 
of  Concord  had  stood  ibr  eighty  years;  and  a 
grating  sound  of  horror  shuddered  through  the 
land  as  the  brazen,  blood -clotted  doors  of 
Janus  flung  themselves  suddenly  wide  apart. 
Lincoln  was  elected.  Abolitionism,  so  long 
adroitly  cloaked,  was  triumphantly  clad  in 
robes  of  state — shameless  now,  and  hideous ; 
and  while  the  North  looked  upon  the  loathsome 
face  of  its  political  Mokanna,  the  South  pre- 
pared for  resistance. 

No  surer  indication  of  th^  purpose  of  the 
Southern  people  could  have  been  furnished, 
than  the  temper  in  which  the  news  was  re- 
ceived. No  noisy  outbursts,  e.xpcnding  resolve 
in  empty  words — no  surface  excitement — but 
a  Jtorn  calm  gloom,  set  lips,  heavj*  bent  brows, 
appropriate  in  men  who  realized  that  they  had 
a  revolution  on  their  hands;  not  indignation 
meetings,  with  fruitless  resolutions — that  they 
•tood  as  body-guard  for  the  liberty  of  the  Re- 
public, and  would  preserve  the  trust  at  all 
hazards.  Jt  would  seem  that,  for  a  time  at 
least, partf  animosities  would  have  been  crush- 
ed ;  but,  like  the  Eiunenides  of  Orestes,  they 
merely  slept  for  a  moment,  starting  up  woll- 
ish  ami  implacable  as  ever;  and  even  here,  in 
many  instances,  the  old  acrimony  of  feeling 
showed  itself  Bitter  dilTercnces  sprung  up  at 
the  very  threshold  on  the  tno'/u<!  operandi  of 
Southern  release  from  Yankee-Egyptic  bond- 
age. Separate  "  state  action"  or  "co-opera- 
tion" divided  the  people,  mafly  of  whom  were 
earnestly  impressed  by  the  necessity  and  ex- 
pediency of  deliberate,  concerted,  simultane- 
ous action  on  the  part  of  all  the  Southern 
states,  while  oth«TS  vehemently  advocated  this 
latter  course  solely  because  the  former  plan 
was  advanced  and  supported  by  their  old  op- 
ponents. In  this  new  issue,  as  if  fate  persist- 
ently fanned  the  flame  of  hate  between  Mr. 
IlantlngdQn  and  llusscll  Aubrey,  they  were 
again  opposed  as  candidates  for  the  State  Con- 


vention. Ah  !  will  the  ghost  of  Faction  ever 
be  laid  in  this  our  republican  land  ?  Shall 
this  insatiate  immemorial  political  Fenrii  f©r 
ever  prey  upon  the  people? 

W was   once   more  convulsed,  and 

strenuous  efforts  were  made  by  botii  sides. 
Russell  was  indefatigable  in  his  labors  for 
prompt,  immediate  state  action,  proclaiming 
liis  belief  that  co-operation  was  impracticable 
before  secession ;  and  it  was  now  that  his  re- 
searches in  the  dusty  regions  of  statistics  came 
admirably  into  play,  as  he  built  up  his  argu- 
ments on  solid  foundations  of  indisputable 
calcuhition. 

For  tiie  first  time  in  her  life  Irene  openlj 
confronted  her  father's  wrath  on  political 
grounds.  She  realized  the  imminence  of  the 
danger,  dreaded  the  siren  song  of  co-oi)Pra- 
tion,  and  dauntlessly  discussed  the  matter  with- 
out hesitation.  The  contest  was  close  and 
heaU'd,  and  resulted  somewhat  singularly  in 
the  election  of  a  mi.xed  ticket — two  Secessioiv- 
ists  being  returned,  and  one  Co  operationist, 
Mr.  Huntingdon,  owing  to  personal  popularity. 

While  the  entire  South  was  girding  for  the 
contest.  South  Carolina,  ever  the  avant  courier 
in  the  march  of  freedom,  seceded ;  and  if 
doubt  had  existed  before,  it  vanished  now  from 
every  mind — for  all  felt  that  the  gallant  state 
must  be  sustained.  Soon  after,  Russell  and 
Mr.  Huntingdon  stood  face  to  face  on  the  floor 
of  their  own  state  convention,  and  wrestled 
desperately.  The  latter  headed  the  opposi- 
tion, and  so  contumacious  did  it  prove  that, 
for  some  days,  the  fate  of  the  state  lay  in  dan  • 
gerous  equilibrium.  Finally,  the  vigilance  of 
the  Secessionists  prevailed,  and,  late  in  the 
aflernoon  of  a  winter  day,  the  ordinance  was 
signed. 

Electricity  flashed  the  decree  to  every  por- 
tion of  the  state,  and  the  thunder  of  artillery 
and  blaze  of  countless  illuminations  told  that 
the   people  gratefully  and  joyfully  accepted 

the  verdict.     W was  vociferous ;  and  as 

Irene  gazed  from  the  colonnade  on  the  distant 
but  brilliant  rows  of  lights  flaming  along  the 
streets,  she  regretted  that  respect  for  her  fa- 
ther's feelings  kept  the  windows  of  her  own 
home  dark  and  cheerless. 

Revolution  is  no  laggard,  but  swift- winged 
as  Hermes;  and  in  quick  succession  seven  sov-- 
ereign  states,  in  virtue  of  the  inherent  rights 
of  a  people  acknowledging  allegiance  only  to 
the  fundamental  doctrine  that  all  just  govern- 
ments rest  on  the  consent  of  the  governed, 
organized  a  provisional  government,  sprang, 
Pallas-like,  upon  the  political  arena,  and  claim- 
ed an  important  role  in  the  grand  drama  of 
the  nineteenth  century.  It  was  not  to  be 
expected  that  a  man  of  ^Ir.  Huntingdon's 
known  acerbity  of  temper  would  yield  grace- 
fully to  a  defeat  agaiu.st  which  he  had  struggled 
FO  earnestly,  and  he  submitted  with  character- 
istic sullcnness. 

Great  contrariety  of  opinion  prevailed  con- 


134 


MACARIA. 


corning  the  course  of  tlie  Fedoral  povem- 
mont  —  many  deluding  themselves  with  the 
bi'lief  th;it  the  separation  would  be  peaceful. 
But  Russell  had  itated  his  conviction  at"  the 
time  of  Lincoln's  election,  that  no  bfoodless 
revolution  of  rqual  magnitude  had  yet  been 
eflTectcu,  and  that  we  must  prepare  to  pay 
the  invariable  sacrificial  dues  which  liberty 
inexorably  demands. 

.So  firm  was  this  belief,  that  he  applied  him- 
self to  the  study  of  military  tactics,  in  antici- 
pation of  ent'Tin*;  the  army  ;  and  many  a  mid- 
night found  him  l>endinG;  over  Ilardec,  Mahan, 
(Jilhim.  Jomini,  an<l  Army  Regulations. 

The  12th  and  1.3th  of  April  were  days  of 
unexampled  excitement  throu[rhout  the  South- 
ern states.  The  discharge  of  the  first  pun 
from  Fort  Moultrie  crushed  the  last  lingering 
vestipes  of  "  Unionism,"  and  welded  the  entire 
Confederacy  in  one  huge  homogeneous  mass  of 
stubborn  resistance  to  despotism.  With  the 
explosion  of  the  first  shell  aimed  by  General 
I'eauregard  against  Fort  Sumter  burst  the  frail 
painted  bubble  of  "Reconstruction,"  which 
had  danced  alluringly  upon  the  dark  surging 

billows  of  revolution.     W was  almost 

wild  with  anxiety;  and  in  the  afternoon  of 
the  second  day  of  the  bombardment,  as  Irene 
watched  the  avenue,  she  saw  her  father  driving 
rapidly  homeward.  Descending  the  steps,  she 
met  him  at  the  buggy. 

"  Beauregard  has  taken  Sumter.  Anderson 
furrenderet]  unconditionally.     No  lives  lo»t." 

"ThaidcGod!" 

They  sat  down  on  the  steps,  and  a  monjent 
after  the  roar  of  guns  shook  the  atmosphere, 
and  cheer  after  cheer  wont  up  the  evening  slcy. 

"  Act  I,  of  a  long  and  bloody  civil  war," 
said  Mr.  Huntingdon,  gravely. 

'*  Perhaps  so,  father ;  but  it  was  forced  upon 
us.  We  left  no  honorable  means  untried  to 
prevent  it,  and  now  it  must  be  accepted  as  the 
least  of  two  evils.  Political  bondage — worse 
than  Russian  serfdom — or  armed  resistance;  no 
other  alternative,  turn  it  which  way  you  will ; 
and  the  Southern  people  are  not  of  stuff  to 
deliberate  a*  to  choice  in  such  an  issue.  God 
is  witness  that  we  have  earnestly  endeavored 
to  avert  hostilities — that  the  blood  of  this  war 
rest!  upon  the  government  at  Washington; 
our  hands  are  stainless."  ^ 

"  I  believe  you  are  right,  and-to-day  I  have 
come  to  a  determination  which  will  doubtless 
surprise  you." 

He  paused,  and  eyed  her  a  moment. 

"  No,  father ;  I  am  not  surprised  that  you 
have  <letermined  to  do  your  duty." 

"  How,  Irene  ?  What  do  you  suppose  that 
it  is  ?" 

"  To  use  Nelson's  words,  the  Confederacy 
'expects  thst  every  man  will  do  his  duty;' 
and  you  are  going  into  the  army." 

"  Who  told  you  that  V" 

"  My  own  heart,  father ;  which  telU  me  what 
I  should  do  were  1  in  your  place." 


"  Well,  I  have  written  to  ^yiontpomcry,  to 
Clapham,  to  tender  my  services.  Wo»  were  at 
West  Point  together;  I  served  under  him  at 
Contreras  and  Chapultepec,  and  he  will  no 
doubt  press  matters  through  promptly.  The 
fact  is,  I  could  not  possibly  stay  at  nome  now. 
My  blood  has  been  at  boiling  heat  since  yester- 
day morning,  when  I  read  Beauregard's  first 
de^spatch." 

"  Did  you  specify  any  branch  of  the  ser- 
vice ?" 

"Yes;  told  him  I  preferreil  artillery.  What 
is  the  matter  V  Your  lips  are  as  white  as  cotton. 
Courage  failing  you  already,  at  thought  of 
grape,  sh^dl.  and  cani.ster?" 

A  long  shiver  crept  over  her,  and  she  shield- 
ed her  face  with  iicr  hands.  When  she  met 
his  eagle  eye  .again  her  voice  was  unsteady. 

"  Oh,  father  I  if  I  were  only  a  man,  that  I 
might  go  with  you — stand  by  you  under  all 
circumstances.  Could  n't  you  take  me  any- 
how ?  Surely  a  daughter  may  follow  her 
father,  even  on  the  battle-field  V" 

He  laughed  lightly,  and  ^wcpt  his  fingers 
over  her  head. 

"  Could  n't  you  learn  a  little  common-sense, 
if  you  were  to  try  ?  Do  you  suppose  I  want 
all  this  gold  braid  of  yours  streaming  in  my 
face  wliile  I  am  getting  my  guns  into  posiuoii/ 
A  pretty  figure  you  would  cut  in  the  midst  of 
my  battery!  Really,  though,  Irene,  I  do  not 
believe  that  you  would  Aineh  before  all  the 
cannon  of  Borodino.  My  blood  beats  at  your 
heart,  and  it  has  never  yet  shown  a  cowardly 
drop.  If  you  ^v1»re  a  boy,  I  swear  you  would 
not  disgrace  my  name  in  any  conflict.  By  tho 
way,  what  shall  I  do  with  you?  It  won't  do 
to  leave  you  here  all  alone." 

"  Why  not,  father  ?  Home  is  certainly  tho 
proper  place  for  me,  if  you  can  not  take  tru) 
with  you." 

"  What!  with  nobody  but  the  servants?" 

"  They  will  take  better  care  of  me  than 
anybody  else.  Nellie,  and  Andrew,  anil  John 
are  the  only  guardians  I  want  in  your  absence. 
They  have  watched  over  me  all  my  lit'e,  and 
they  will  do  it  to  the  end.  Give  yourself  no 
troiil)le,  sir,  on  my  account." 

"  I  3ui)[)ose  your  uncle  Krw.  will  be  hon>o 
before  long;  he  can  stay  hore  till  I  come 
back — or — till  the  troubles  are  over.  In  the 
meantime,  you  could  be  with  the  Harrises,  or 
Hendersons,  or  Mrs.  Churchhill." 

"  No,  sir ;  I  can  stay  here,  which  is  infinitely 
preferable  on  many  accounts.  I  will,  with 
your  permission,  invite  Mrs.  Campbell  to  shut 
up  tlie  parsonage  in  her  husband's  absence, 
and  "remain  with  me  till  uncle  Eric  returns. 
I  have  no  doubt  that  .she  will  be  glad  to  make 
the  change.     Do  you  approve  the  plan  ?" 

"Yes.  That  arrangement  will  answer  for 
tho  present,  and  Arnold  will  be  here  to  tako 
tare  of  you." 

At  tho  close  of  a  week  a  telegraphic  des- 
patch was  received,,  informing  Mr.  Huntingdon 


MACAKIA. 


135 


of  his  appointment  as  major  in  the  provisional 
array  of  the  Confederacy,  and  containing  an 
order  to  report  immediately  for  duty. 

Some  days  of  delay  were  consumed  in 
necessary  preparations  for  an  indefinite  ab- 
sence. Sundry  papers  were  drawn  up  by 
Judge  Harris — an  old  will  was  destroyed,  a 
new  one  made — and  explicit  directions  were 
reiterated  to  the  overseer  at  the  plantation. 
More  reticent  than  ever,  Irene  busied  herself 
in  devising  and  arranging  various  little  com- 
forts for  her  father,  when  he  should  be  de- 
barred from  the  luxuries  of  home.  No  traces 
of  tears  were  ever  visible  on  her  grave,  com- 
posed face  ;  but  several  times,  on  coming  sud- 
denly into  the  room,  he  found  that  her  work 
had  faHen  into  her  lap,  and  that  her  head  was 
bowed  down  on  her  arms.  Once  he  dis- 
tinguished low  pleading  words  of  prayer. 
She  loved  him  with  a  devotion  very  rarely 
found  between  father  and  child,  and  this  sep- 
aration cost  her  hours  of  silent  agony,  which 
even  her  father  could  not  fully  appreciate. 

Having  completed  his  arrangements,  and 
ordered  the  carriage  to  be  in  readiness  at  day- 
light next  morning  to  convey  him  to  the  depot, 
he  bade  her  good -night  much  as  usual,  and 
retired  to  his  own  room. 

But  thought  was  too  busy  to  admit  of  sleep, 
lie  turned  restlessly  on  his  pillow,  rose,  and 
smoked  a  second  cigar,  and  returned,  to  find 
himself  more  wakeful  than  ever.  The  clock 
down  stairs  in  the  library  struck  one  ;  his  door 
opened  softly,  and,  by  the  dim  moonlight 
struggling  through  the  window,  he  saw  Irene 
glide  to  his  bedside. 

"  Why  don't  you  go  to  sleep,  Irene  V" 

"  Because  I  can't.     I  am  too  miserable." 

Her  voice  was  dry,  but  broken,  faltering. 

•'  I  never  knew  you  to  be  nervous  before ;  I 
thought  you  scorned  nerves  ?  Here,  my 
daughter — take  this  pillow,  and  lie  down  by 
me." 

She  put  her  arm  about  his  neck,  drawing 
his  face  close  to  hers,  and  he  felt  her  lips 
([uiver  as  tliey  touched  his  cheek. 

"  Father,  when  you  know  exactly  where  you 
;*rc  to  be  stationed,  won't  you  let  me  come  and 
stay  somewhere  in  the  vicinity,  where  I  can  be 
with  you  if  you  should  be  wounded  ?  Do 
promise  me  this ;  it  will  be  the  only  comfort  I 
can  have." 

"  The  neighborhood  of  an  army  would  not  be 
a  pleasant  place  for  you  ;  bcside,'you  could  do 
me  no  good  even  if  I  were  hurt.  I  shall  have 
a  surgeon  to  attend  to  all  such  work  much 
better  than  your  inexpcriented  hands  could 
I>ossibly  do  it.  I  am  surprised  at  you,  Irene  ; 
upon  my  word,  I  am.  I  thought  you  wanted 
me  to  go  into  service  promptly  ?" 

"  So  I  do,  father.  I  think  that  every  man 
in  the  Confederacy  who  ran  leave  his  family 
should  be  in  our  army  ;  but  a  stern  seifte  of 
tlut.y  does  not  prevent  people  from  sutTering 
at  separation  and  thought  ol  danger.     I  should 


be  unworthy  of  ray  country  if  I  were  .selfish 
enough  to  want  to  keep  you  from  its  defence ; 
and  yet  I  were  unworthy  of  my  father  if  I 
could  see  you  leave  home,  under  such  circum- 
stances, without  great  grief  Oh !  if  I  could 
only  go  with  you  !  But  to  have  to  stay  here, 
useless  and  inactive  !" 

"  Yes — it  is  bad  to  be  obliged  to  leave  yoii 
behind,  but  it  can't  be  helped.  I  should  feel 
much  better  satisfied  if  )'ou  were  married,  and 
had  somebody  to  take  care  of  you  in  case  any- 
thing happens  to  me.  It  is  your  own  fault  that 
you  are  not ;  I  never  could  understand  what 
possessed  you  to  discard  Bainbridge.  Still, 
that  is  past,  and  I  suppose  irreparable,  and 
now  you  must  abide  by  your  own  choice." 

"  I  am  satisfied  with  my  choice ;  have  no 
regrets  on  any  score,  save  that  of  your  de- 
parture. But,  father,  the  future  is  dark  and 
uncertain  ;  and  I  feel  that  I  want  an  assurance 
of  your  entire  reconciliation  and  affection  bo- 
fore  you  go.  I  came  here  to  say  to  you  that  I 
deeply  regret  all  the  unfcwtunate  circumstancea 
of  my  life  which  caused  you  to  treat  me  so 
coldly  for  a  season — that  if  in  anything  I  have 
ever  seemed  obstinate  or  undutiful,  it  was  not 
because  I  failed  in  love  for  you,  but  from  an 
unhappy  difference  of  opinion  as  to  my  duty 
under  very  trying  circumstances.  Father,  ray 
heart  ached  very  bitterly  under  your  estrange- 
ment— the  very  memory  is  unutterably  painful. 
I  want  your  full,  free  forgiveness  now,  for  all 
the  trouble  I  hare  ever  occasioned  you.  Oh, 
father  !  give  it  to  mc  1" 

He  drew  her  close  to  him,  and  kissed  her 
twice. 

"  You  have  my  forgiveness,  my  daughter — 
though  I  must  tell  you  that  your  treatment  of 
poor  Hugh  has  been  a  continual  source  of 
sorrow  and  keen  disappointment  to  me.  I 
never  can  forget  your  disobedience  in  that 
matter.  I  do  not  believe  you  will  ever  be 
happy,  you  have  such  a  strange  disposition ; 
but  since  you  took  matters  so  completely  in 
your  own  hands,  you  have  only  yourself  to 
reproach.  Irene,  I  very  oftftn  wonder  whether 
vou  have  any  heart — for  it  seems  to  me  that  if 
you  have,  it  would  have  been  won  by  the  de- 
votion which  has  been  lavished  on  you  more 
than  once.  You  are  the  only  woman  I  ever 
knew  who  appeared  utterly  incapable  of  lovo  ; 
and  I  sometimes  wonder  what  will  become  of 
you  when  I  am  dead." 

"  God  will  protect  me.  I  look  continually 
to  his  guardianship.  Father,  do  not  be  offend- 
ed if  I  bog  yoa  most  earnestly  to  give  some 
thought  to  Him  who  has  blessed  you  so  abun- 
dantly in  the  privileges  of  this  world,  and  to 
prepare  for  that  future  into  which  you  may  be 
ushered,  at  any  moment,  from  the  battle-field. 
You  have  never  allowed  me  to  speak  to  you  on 
this  subject;  but  oh,  my  dear  father  !  it  is  too 
solemn  a  question  to  be  put  aside  any  longer. 
If  you  would  only  pray  for  yourself,  my  mind 
would  be  eased  of  such  a  weight  of  anxiety  and 


izt 


MICARIA. 


apprcLension.  Oh !  that  the  spirit  of  my 
mother  may  join  in  my  prayera  before  the 
Throne  in  your  behalf." 

IIu  unclaspi'd  her  arm  and  turned  his  face 
»way.  savin;:,  tolilly  : 

"  Do  you  c  onsidiT  it  your  privilt^pc  to  tell 
me  that  I  am  so  wicked  tliere  is  no  hope  for  me 
in  the  next  world,  if  llierc  be  one  V" 

"No!  no  I  father!  but  if  i?  enjoined,  as  the 
duty  of  even  tlie  purest  and  iioliest,  to  acknowl- 
edge their  dependence  on  God,  and  to  supplicate 
His  mercy  and  direction.  It  i.s  true,  I  [iray  con- 
stantly for  you,  but  that  i."(  a  duty  wliich  our 
Maker  re(juire8  every  indi\idual  to  perform 
for  himself.  Do  not  be  di.^pleased,  fatlier  ;  if  it 
were  anything;  les.s  than  your  eternal  hap- 
piness. I  should  not  presume  to  question  your 
conduct.  I  can  only  hope  and  tru;-t  that  your 
life  will  be  sparecl,  an<l  that  some  day  you  will,, 
without  offence,  suffer  me  to  talk  to  you  of 
what  deeply  concerns  my  peace  of  mind.  I 
won't  keep  you  awake  any  longer,  as  you  have 
a  tedious  journey  before  you.  Good-night, 
ray  dear  father." 

She  kissed  him  tenderly  and  left  him,  closing 
the  door  softly  behind  her. 

A  spectral  crescent  moon  flickered  in  the 
sky,  and  stars  still  burned  in  the  violet  East, 
when  the  carriage  drove  to  the  door,  and  Irene 
followed  her  fatlicr  to  the  steps. 

Even  in  that  dim,  uncertain  gray  light  he 
fould  see  that  her  face  was  rigid  and  haggard, 
and  tears  filled  his  cold  brilliant  eyes  as  he 
folde(l  her  to  his  heart. 

"Good -by,  iJeauty.  Cheer  up,  my  brave 
child  !  and  look  on  the  bright  side.  After  all, 
I  may  come  back  a  brigadier -genoral,  and 
make  you  one  of  my  gtaft  oHicers!  You  shall 
be  my  adjutant,  and  light  up  my  office  with 
your  golden  head.  Take  care  of  your.self  till 
Eric  comes,  and  write  to  me  often.  Good-by, 
my  dear,  my  darling  daughter." 

She  trembled  convulsively,  pressing  her  lips 
repeatedly  to  his. 

"  Oil,  may  God  bless  you,  my  father,  and 
bring  you  safely  back  to  me !  "  " 

lie  unwound  her  arms,  put  her  gently  aside, 
and  steppe<l  into  the  carriage. 

William,  the  cook,  who  was  to  accompany 
him,  stood  sobbing  near  the  door,  and  now 
advan<iiig,  grasped  her  hand. 

"  Good  by,  Miss  Irene.  May  the  Lord  pro- 
tect you  all  till  we  coine  back  !" 

"  WiHiani,  I  look  to  you  to  take  care  of 
father,  and  let  me  know  at  once  if  anything 
happens." 

"  I  will.  Miss  Irene.  I  promise  you  I  will 
take  goo(f  care  of  master,  and  telegraph  you  if 
he  is  hurt." 

He  wrung  her  hand,  the  carriage  rolled 
rapi<lly  away,  and  the  sorrow-stricken,  tearless 
woman  sat  down  on  the  steps  and  dropped  her 
head  in  her  hands.  Old  Nellie  drew  near, 
wiping  her  eyes,  and  essaying  comfort. 

'*  Don't  fret  go,  child.     When  trouble  comet 


it  will  be  time  enough  to  gricTe  over  It.  Mas- 
ter was  in  the  Mejtican  war,  and  never  had  a 
scratch  ;  and  maybe  he  will  be  as  lu;ky  thii 
time.  Don't  harden  your  face  in  that  flinty 
way.  You  never  would  cry  like  other  chil- 
dren, but  just  set  yourself  slrriight  up,  for  all 
the  world  like  one  of  the  stone  figures  .standing 
ovi-r  your  gran<llatliei's  gravfe.  Try  to  coin* 
and  lake  a  nap;  I  know*  you  have  n't  shut 
your  eyes  this  night." 

"  No — I  can't  sleep.  Go  in,  Nellie,  and 
leave  me  to  myself." 

The  shrill  scream  of  the  locomotive  ranj 
through  the  still,  dewy  air,  and  between  two 
neigliboring  hills  the  long  train  of  ears  dashed 
on,  leaving  a  fiery  track  of  sparks  as  it  disap- 
peared around  a  curve.  Oppressed  with  a 
horrible  dread,  against  which  she  struggled  in 
vain,  Irene  remained  alone,  and  was  only 
aroused  from  her  painful  r«verie  by  the  low 
musical  cooing  of  the  pigeons,  already  astic. 
As  they  fluttered  and  nestled  about,  she,  ex- 
tended her  arms,  and  catching  two  of  th« 
gentlest  to  her  heart,  murmured,  mournfully  : 

"  Come,  messengers  of  peace  !  bring  in« 
resignation.     Teach  me  patience  and  faith." 

The  empty  carriage  came  slowly  up  tlw 
avenue,  as  if  returning  from  a  funeral,  and 
passed  to  the  stable-yard  ;  birds  chirped,  twit- 
tered, sang  in  the  wavering,  glistening  tree- 
tops  ;  the  sun  flashed  up  in  conijucring  splen- 
dor, and  the  glory  of  the  spring  day  broke,  upon 
the  world. 

"'Ttvday  thou  i^irdpnt  up  thy  luins  thyiiflf. 
And  fjiM'iit  wlicii"  thou  wMiiliCjt:  pioaiMitly 
Olhrm  sh.tll  ^ird  thrc'  giiiil  the  Lord,  '  to  go 
Where  thou  would'it  not.'  " 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

To  those  who  reside  at  th»3  convulsed  throb- 
bing heart  of  a  great  revolution,  a  lifetime 
seems  compressed  info  the  eomjiass  of  days 
and  weeks,  and  men  ami  women  are  conscioug 
of  growing  prematurely  ol<l  wliih-  watching 
the  rushing,  thundering  tram|)  of  events,  por- 
tentous with   the   fate   of  nations.     W 

presented  the  appearance  of  a  military  camik, 
rather  than  the  peaceful  manufacturing  town 
of  yore.  Every  vacant  lot  was  converted  into 
a  parade-ground — aiul  the  dash  of  cavalry, 
the  low,  sullen  rumbling  of  artillery,  and  the 
slow,  steady  tread  of  infantry,  echoed  through 
its  wide,  liainlsome  streets.  Elag-staifs  wera 
erected  from  public  buildings,  ])rivate  resi- 
dences, and  at  the  most  fre(piented  corners, 
and  from  these,  floated  banners  of  all  sizes, 
tosising  prouilly  to  the  balmy  breeze  the  new- 
born ensign  of  freedom — around  which  clus- 
tered tiie  hopes  of  a  people  who  felt  that  upon 
them,  and  iliem  only,  now  devolved  the  sacred 
dutv'of  proving  to  the  world  the  capa<ity  of  a 
nation  lor  self-government.  In  view  of  the 
iniquitous  and  impossible  task  which  it  bad 


MACARIA. 


lar 


insanely  sot  itself  to  accomplisli,  tlic  povern- 
ment  at  Wasliinfrton  bad  swept  aside  all  con- 
Btitutional  forms,  in  order  to  free  its  hands  for 
th«  work  of  blood — liad  ultimated  in  eomplete 
despotism.  The  press  was  tliorou^lily  muz- 
zled— freedom  of  speech  was  erased  from  the 
list  of  Anirriean  privili'q:es  ;  the  crowded  cells 
of  Bastile  Lafayette,  Mc Henry,  and  AVarren 
wailed  out  to  the  civilized  world  that  habeas 
eorpns  was  no  more;  and,  terror- striidcen  at 
the  hideous  fiL'iire  of  Absolutism  carved  by  the 
(running  finders  of  Lincoln  and  Seward,  nnd 
get  up  for  worship  at  \Vashinirton,  Lil)erty  fled 
from  her  jiolhiteci  fane,  and  soui^lit  shelter  and 
•hrine  on  the  banner  of  the  Confederacy,  in 
the  dauntless,  devoted  hearts  of  its  uncon- 
querable patriots.  Fondly  and  proudly  was 
the  divinity  guarded.  Smilin<;  flowery  val- 
leys ran^  with  pieans  that  rose  high  above  the 
din  of  deadly  strife — and  ruir2;ed,  lonely  hills 
and  purple  mountains  lifted  themselves  to  the 
God  of  battle,  like  huge  smoking  altars  red  with 
the  noble  blood  of  slaughtered  heroes.  Loath- 
ing and  detestation  succeeded  the  old  aflVrction 
for  the  Federal  government,  and  "Union" 
became  everywhere  the  synonyme  of  political 
duplicity,  despotism,  and  the  utter  abrogation 
of  ail  that  had  once  constituted  American 
freedom,  and  rendered  the  republic,  in  earlier 
years,  the  civil  Pharos  of  Christendom.  The 
Confederacy  realize<l  that  the  hour  had  arrived 
when  the  historic  Sphinx  must  find  an  CEdipus, 
or  Democratic  Republican  Liberty  would  be 
devoured,  swept  away,  with  the  debris  of 
other  dead  systems.  Lifting  their  eyes  to  God 
for  blessing,  the  men  of  the  South  girded  on 
their  swords  and  resolved,  calmly  and  solemnly, 
to  prove  that  QSdipus— to  read,  and  for  ever  set 
at  rest  the  Iiaunting,  ve.xing  riddle.  Another 
adjective  than  "  .Spartan  "  must  fleck  with 
glory  tlie  pages  of  future  historians,  for  all  the 
Rteru  resolution  ami  self-abnegation  of  Rome 
and^Laccdaemon  had  entered  the  souls  of 
Southern  women.  Mothers  closed  their  lips 
firmly  to  repress  a  wail  of  sorrow  as  they 
buckled  on  the  swords  of  their  first-born,  and 
•ent  them  forth  with  a  "God-speed!"  to 
battle  for  the  right  ;  fond  wives  silently  pack- 
ed their  husl)antls  knapsacks,  with  hands  that 
knew  no  faltering;  and  sisters,  with  tearless 
eyes,  bent  by  the  light  of  midnight  lamps  over 
canteens  which  their  thoughtful  care  covered 
for  brothers  who  were  to  start  to  the  scene  of 
action  on  the  morrow.  A  nation  of  laboring, 
nimble  -  fingered,  prayerful  -  hearted,  brave- 
•pirited  women,  and  chivalrie,  high-souled, 
heroic  men,  who  had  never  learned  tljat 
Americans  conM  live  and  not  be  free.  Grant 
ns  our  reward,  oh  God  I  the  independence 
of  the  land  we  hold  so  di«ar. 

W gave   her  young   men    liberally ; 

company  after  company  was  erpiipped,  fur- 
nished with  ample  funds  by  the  munificence  of 
citizens  who  nmained,  and  sent  forward  to 
Virginia,  to  mak«   their  breasts  a  shield  for 


the  proud  old  "  Mother  of  Presidents."  Th« 
battle  of  Bethel  was  legnrdod  as  part  of  an 
overture  to  the  opera  of  Blood,  yclcjit  "  Sub- 
jugation," and  people,  watched  in  silence  for 
the  crimson  curtain  to  rise  upon  the  banks  of 
the  Potomac.  Russell 'Aubrey  hail  succeeded 
in  raisinii  a  fine  fiill  company  for  the  war,  as 
contra-distinguished  from  twelve  months  vol- 
unteers ;  and  to  properly  drill  and  disciplins 
it,  he  bent  all  the  energy  of  his  character.  It 
was  made  the  nucleiis  of  a  new  regiment,  re- 
cruits gathered  rapidly,  and  when  the  regi- 
ment organized,  preparatory  to  starting  for 
Virginia,  he  was  elected  colwtiel,  with 
Herbert  Blackwell  for  lieutenant -colonel, 
and  Charles  Harris  was  appointed  adjutant. 
They  were  temporarily  encamped  on  the  com- 
mon between  the  railroad  depot  and  Mr. 
Huntingdon's  residence,  and  from  the  observa- 
tory or  colonnade  Irene  could  look  down  on 
the  gleaming  tents  and  the  flag-staif  that 
stood  before  the  oflicers  quarters.  ReveVla 
startled  her  at  dawn,  and  tnlton  regularly 
warned  her  of  the  shortness  of  summer  nights. 
As  the  fiery  carriage-horses  would  not  brook 
the  sight  of  the  encampment,  she  discarded 
them  for  a  time,  and  when  compelled  to  leav<» 
home  rode  Erebus,  at  no  slight  risk  of  her 
lifi' — for  he  evinced  the  greatest  rcpugnauco 
to  the  sound  of  drum  or  fife. 

One  afternoon  she  went  over  to  the  Ro\f, 
and  thence  to  the  factory.  A  new  company 
had  been  named  in  honor  of  her  father;  uni- 
forms and  haversacks  were  to  be  furnished, 
ami  Mr.  Huntingdon  had  intrusted  her  with 
the  commission.  Selecting  tlie  cloth  and  ac- 
complishing her  errand,  she  7-eturned  by  war 
of  the  orphan -asylum,  whose  brick  walls 
were  rapidly  rising  under  her  supervision. 
One  of  the  workmen  took  her  horse,  and  sh» 
went  over  the  building,  talking  to  the  princi- 
pal ml'chanic  about  some  additional  closet* 
which  she  desired  to  have  inserted.  Dr. 
Arnold  chanced  to  be  passing,  but  saw 
Erebus  at  the  gate,  stopped,  and  came  in. 

'•  I  was  just  going  up  to  the  Hill  to  see  you, 
Queen — glad  I  am  saved  the  trouI)lc.  Here, 
sit  down  a  minute ;  I  will  clear  these  shavings 
away.     When  did  you  hear  from  Leonard?" 

"  I  had  a  letter  jesterday.  He  was  well, 
and  on  outpost  <luty  near  Manassas." 

"  Well,  I  shall  join  him  very  soon." 

"  Sir  ?" 

"  I  say  I  shall  join  him  very  soon ;  don't  yon 
believe  it  ?  Why  should  n't  I  serve  my  coun- 
try as  well  as  younger  men  ?  The  fact  is,  I 
am  going  as  surgeon  of  Aubrey's  regiment. 
It  wouM  never  do  to  have  tli^  handsomo 
colonel  maiqied  for  life,  through  the  awkward- 
ness of  a  new-fledged  M.  D.  Miss  Salom« 
would  spoil  her  superb  eyes  with  crying — 
which  catastrophe  would, doubtles?,  distress 
him  more  than  the  loss  of  a  limb — eh,  Irene  V" 

She  looked,  at  bim,  betraying  neither  »u»- 
prise  nor  regret. 


ISS 


MACARIA. 


"  When  will  you  leave  W- 


"  Day  after  to-  morrow  morninp  ;  can't  get 
transportation  any  sooner.  Aubrey  has  re- 
••eived  orders  to  ruport  at  once  to  (lencral 
Beaurcpnrd.     Child,  have  you  been  sick  ?" 

"  No,  sir.  [  am  p;lad  you  are  coin;;  with  the 
repiment ;  very  gl.id.  Evi-ry  ^ooil  surgeon  in 
the  Confcderary  khtiuld  hasten  to  the  front 
lino  of  our  armies.  Since  you  leave  home,  I 
fiOi  particularly  ;:Iad  that  you  are  going  to 
Manassas,  where  you  can  be  near  father.' 

"  Humph  !  Do  you  suppose  that  I  am  a 
patent  life-preserver  against  minie  balls  and 
grapo-shot  /" 

"  I  know  you  will  do  all  that  skill  and  affec- 
tion can  suggest,  and  I  shall  feel  much  bctttT 
satisfied." 

He  mused  a  moment,  watching  her  fur- 
tively. 

"  I  suppose  you  have  heard  of  the  perform- 
ance for  to-morrow  ?" 

"  No,  sir.     To  what  do  you  allude  ?" 

"  The  daughter  of  Ilerodias  is  preparing  to 
dance." 

"  I  don't  understand  you,  Doctor." 

"  Oh,  don't  you,  indeed  ?  Well,  then,  she 
intends  to  present  a  splendid  regimental  flag 
with  her  own  brown  hands ;  and  aj  Aubrey  is 
to  receive  it,  the  regiment  will  mai'ch  to  Mrs. 
ChurchhiH'!*,  where  the  speeches  will  be  de- 
livered. ^Vill  you  attend  ?" 
'  "  Scarcely,  I  presume,  as  I  am  not  invited. 
I  knew  th.it  Salome  was  having  an  elegant 
flag  made,  but  was  not  aware  that  to-morrow 
was  appointed  for  the  ceremony  of  presenta- 
tion." 

'*  Who  will  look  after  you  when  I  am  gone  ? 
You  are  the  only  tie  I  iiave  hero.  I. can't 
bear  to  leave  you." 

"  I  dare  say  I  shall  get  on  very  well  ;  an<l, 
beside,  you,  of  course,  must  go  and  do  your 
duty,  no  matter  what  happens." 

"  But  you  will  be  so  lonely  and  isolated  till 
pjric  comes." 

She  nmiled  suddenly,  strangely,  yet  with  no 
tinge  of  bitterness. 

"  That  is  nothing  new.  1  have  been  solitary 
all  my  life." 

"  And  it  is  your  own  fault.  You  mi;;ht  have 
married  like  other  pcojjle,  and  been  happier." 

"You  are  mi.takcn  in  asiuming  that  I  am 
not  happy  in  my  home." 

"  Hush,  Irene  !  hush  !  I  know  the  signs  of 
true  happiness,  if  I  don't  possess  it  myself. 
You  never  murmur;  oh,  no! — you  are  too 
protid  I  You  don't  droop  like  some  poor, 
weak,  sickly  souls;  oh,  no! — you  are  too  stately 
and  regal.  You  will  live  and  die  a  model  of 
reticent  chill  propriety ;  and  when  you  are 
in  your  shroud  your  placid,  treacherous  face 
will  bear  no  witness  that  you  were  cheated  out 
«£  your  rights  Tn  this  world." 

Again  she  smiled,  and  laid  her  hand  on  his. 

"  What  a  pity  you  mistook  your  forte  in 
early  life  ;  with  such  a  fertile  imagination,  not 


physic,  but  fiction,  was  yonr  calling.  When 
will  you  come  to  see  me  ?  I  want  you  to  take 
a  parcel  to  father  for  me ;  and  then  I  want  to 
have  a  long  talk." 

"  I  know  what  the  long  talk  amounts  to. 
You  need  not  hold  out  any  such  rosy-cheeked 
apples  of  Sodom  as  a  bait.  I  am  coming,  of 
course,  after  the  llag  ceremonies,  where  I  am 
expected.  At  one  o'clock  I  will  be  at  tb« 
Hill — pcrhj^pg  earlier.     Where  now  '.■"' 

"  I  must  go  by  Mrs.  Haker's,  to  see  about 
giving  out  some  sewing  for  the  '  Huntingdon 
Rifles.'  I  can't  do  it  all  at  home,  and  several 
families  here  require  work.  I  shall  expect 
you  at  one  o'clock — shall  have  lunch  ready  for 
you.  By  the  way,  Doctor,  is  there  anything  I 
can  do  for  you  in  the  sewing  line  ?  It  would 
give  me  genuine  pleasure  to  make  something 
for  you,  if  you  will  only  tell  me  what  you  need- 
Think  over  your  wants." 

Slie  had  caught  up  her  reins,  but  pauses], 
looking  at  him.     He  averted  his  head  ijuickly. 

"  I  will  tell  you  to-monow.     (lOfxl-evening." 

Turning  from  the  town,  she  took  a  narrow 
sandy  road  leading  among  low,  irregular  hills, 
and  after  passing  a  thicket  of  sweet-gum,  bay, 
and  poplar,  that  bordered  a  clear,  bj-awling, 
rocky-bosomed  stream  wliich  ran  across  the 
ro^d,  she  rode  up  to  a  three-roomed  log-house. 
Two  small  children,  with  anomalous  bluish- 
white  hair,  were  ])laying  marliles  in  the  pa^ 
sage,  and  a  boy,  apparently  ten  years  of  age, 
was  seated  on  the  ground,  whistling  "  Dixie  " 
and  making  sjilit  baskets,  such  as  are  gener- 
ally used  on  i)lantations  for  picking  cotton. 
He  threw  down  his  work  and  ran  to  open  tbo 
gate,  which  was  tied  with  a  piece  of  rope. 

'•  How  do  you  do,  Hanson  ?  Is  your  mother 
at  home  V" 

"  Yes,  ma'm." 

She  gave  him  her  bridle  and  entered  tl*e 
house,  in  one  of  the  rooms  of  wliich  she  fbund 
a  tall,  muscular,  powerful  -  lookin'^  w»an 
kneeling  on  the  floor,  and  eii'^aged  in  entting 
out  work  trom  a  roll  of  striped  cloth.  Putting 
her  grayish  hair  behind  her  ears,  she  paused, 
lookud  up,  and,  with  scissors  in  hand,  said, 
bluntly : 

"  Be  seated.  Miss  Irene.     I  have  n't  time,  or 
I  would  get  up.     Lucinda,  bring  some  watvr- 
fresh  from  the  spring,  ami  if  your  grandmother 
is  awake,  tell  her  Miss  Irene  is  here." 

"  I  see  you  have  not. finished  your  contract, 
Mrs.  Baker."  ""' 

"  Very  nearly,  ma'm.  I  will  finish  off  and 
send  in  the  last  lot  of  these,  haversacks  by 
twelve  o'clock  to-morrow.  Tlie  captain  was 
out  to-day  to  hurry  me  up ;  said  the  regiment 
had  orders  to  leave  day  after  to-morrow.  1 
gave  him  my  word  he  should  have  them  by 
noon,  and  that  is  something  I  nc^ver  break." 

"  Have  you  heard  from  your'husband  sine* 
I  saw  you  y" 

Again  the  busy  scissors  paused. 

"  Not  a  word.     But  my  boy,  Robert,  has 


MACARIA. 


1S9 


had  a  terriblo  spoil  of  fever  in  Lynchburor.  I 
received  a  few  lines  from  the  doctor  of  the 
hospital  yesterday.  Thank  God  I  he  was  bet- 
ter when  the  letter  was  written.  His.  father 
knows  nothinn;  of  it.  I  can't  find  out  exactly 
where  Mr.  Baker's  company  is.  They  are  do- 
ing good  service,  I  hope,  somewhere — making 
their  mark  on  the  Union  wret<;hes  in  the  Vir- 
ginia valley.  I  want  to  hear  that  my  husband 
had  a  hand  in  burning  Wheeling." 

*'  I  believe  you  told  me  that  you  were  from 
Virginia." 

"  Yes,  raa'm  ;  but  not  from  that  part  of  it,  I 
want  you  to  understand.  I  was  born  in 
Amelia,  thank  my  stars  !  and  that  is  as  true  as 
steel." 

"  It  must  be  a  great  trial  to  you  to  have 
your  husband  and  son  so  far  off,  and  yet  sepa- 
rated." 

"  Of  course  I  hate  to  have  them  away,  and 
times  are  hard  for  such  a  family  as  mine,  with 
little  means  of  support;  but  I  don't  grieve. 
Every  man  has  to  do  his  duty  now,  and  every 
woman,  too.  I  told  Stephen  I  thought  I  could 
take  care  of  the  children  and  myself— .that  I 
would  rather  live  on  acorns,  than  that  he 
should  not  serve  his  country  when  it  needed 
him  :  and  I  told  Robert,  when  I  fixed  him  off, 
that  I  never  would  die  contented  if  he  and  his 
father  did  not  both  do  something  to  distinguish 
themselves  in  this  war.  I  am  a  poor  woman. 
Miss  Irene,  but  no  soul  loves  the  Confederacy 
better  than  I  do,  or  will  work  harder  for  it. 
I  have  no  money  to  lend  our  government,  but 
I  give  my  husband  and  my  child — and  two 
better  soldiers  no  state  can  show." 

"  You  have  done  your  part  nobly,  and  I 
trust  both  your  dear  ones  will  be  spared,  and 
brought  safely  back  to  you.  How  is  your 
mother  to-day  ?" 

"  Very  feeble,  I  was  up  nearly  all  night 
with  her.  She  had  one  of  her  bad  spells. 
Have  some  water ;  it  is  sweet  and  cold." 

"  Do  you  want  any  more  work  this  week  ?" 

"  Yes.  ma'm;  I  should  like  some  after  to-mor- 
row.    Do  you  know  where  I  can  get  any  ?" 

"  I  can  give  you  seventy -five  flannel  over- 
shirts,  and  the  same  number  of  haversacks; 
but  you  could  scarcely  finish  them  all  in  tinie, 
and  I  thought  I  would  send  you  the  shirts, 
wid  let  Mrs.  Pritchard  fake  the  haversacks." 

"  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  get  them.  You 
are  not  raising  a  company  yourself,  Miss 
Irene  V" 

"  Oh,  no !  but  there  is  a  new  company 
named  'Huntingdon  Rifles'  for  my  father,  and 
he  wishes  to  give  them  everything  they  need. 
When  can  you  come  in  to  see  me  about  cut- 
ting out  the  shirts  V" 

"  Day  after  to-morrow  morning,  quite  early, 
if  it  will  suit  you." 

"  That  will  suit  me  very  well.  Here  is  that 
remedy  for  asthma,  which  I  mentioned  to 
you  once  before.     If  you  will  try  it  f\ithfully, 


I  have  no  doubt  it  will  at  least  relieve  your    ' 
mother  of  much  suffering.     If  you  can't  find 
the  ingredients  here,  let  me  know,  and  I  can 
get  them  from  the  plantation." 

As  the  kneeling  figure  received  the  slip  of 
paper  she  rose,  and  tears  gathered  in  the  largo 
clear  gray  eyes. 

"  Thank  you.  Miss  Irene ;  it  is  very  good  of 
you  to  remember  my  poor  old  mother  so  con- 
stantly. I  am  afraid  nothing  will  ever  do  her 
much  good;  but  I  am  grateful  to  you,  and  will 
try  your  remedy  faithfully.  I  want  to  thank 
you,  too,  for  the  good  you  have  done  Hanson  ; 
I  never  saw  a  boy  so  changed.  He  is  up  by 
daylight  Sunday  mornings,  getting  all  things 
in  trim,  so  that  he  can  be  off  to  Sabbath- 
school.  I  have  always  tried  to  teach  my  chil- 
dren to  be  honest  and  upright,  but  I  am  afraid 
I  did  not  do  my  duty  fully  ;  I  am  afraid  they 
were  neglected  in  some  respects,  till  you  began 
with  them  in  Sabbath-school." 

"  Your  children  all  learn  very  readily,  but 
Hanson  is  particularly  bright.  I  am  very 
glad  to  have  him  in  my  class ;  he  is  one  of  my 
best  pupils." 

As  she  went  homeward  a  sha<low  fell  upon 
her  face — a  shadow  darker  than  that  cast  by  ■ 
the  black  plume  in  her  riding-hat — and  once 
or  twice  her  lips  writhed  from  their  ordinary 
curves  of  beauty.  Nearing  the  encamjiment 
she  lowered  her  veil,  but  saw  that  dress-ptirade 
had  been  dismissed,  and  as  she  shook  tho 
reins  and  Erebus  quickened  his  gallop,  sho 
found  herself  face  to  face  with  the  colonel, 
who  had  just  mounted  his  horse  and  was 
riding  toward  town.  She  looked  at  him,  and 
bowed;  but,  in  passing,  he  kept  his  eyes  fixed 
on  the  road  before  him',  and  in  the  duskiness 
his  face  seemed  colder  and  more  inflexible  than- 
ever.  Such  had  been  the  manner  of  their 
occasional  meetings  since  the  interview  at  the 
factory,  and  she  was  not  stirprised  that  thi:*, 
her  first  greeting,  was  disregarded.  The 
public  believed  that  an  engagement  existed 
between  him  and  Salome,  and  the  attentions 
heaped  upon  him  by  the  family  of  the  latter 
certainly  gave  color  to  the  report.  But  Irene 
was  not  deceived  ;  she  had  learned  to  under- 
stand his  nature,  and  knew  that  his  bitterness 
of  feeling  and  studied  avoirlance  of  herself  be- 
tokened that  the  old  affection  had  not  been 
crushed.  Struggling  with  the  dictates  of  her 
heart,  and  a  sense  of  the  respect  duo  to  her 
father's  feeling?,  she  passed  a  sleepless  night 
j  in  pacing  the  gallery  of  the  observatory.  It 
was  a  vigil  of  almost  intolerable  perplexity 
and  anguish.  Under  all  its  painful  aspects 
j  .she  patiently  weighed  the  matter,  and  at  ?un- 
I  rise  next  morning,  throwing  open  the  blinds  of 
her  room,  she  drew  her  rose- wood  desk  to  tb« 
window,  and  wrote  thcss  words  : 
"  Col.  AunuF.Y  : 

'*  Before  you  leave  W ,  allow  me  to 

see  you  for  a  few  moments.     If  your  dcpar- 


U9 


MACAKIA. 


ture  is  positively  fixed  for  to-morrow,  come  to 
me  tliis  afternoon;  at  any  hour  whicb  may 
be  most  conM-nii-nt. 

"  IU'sj)CTt fully, 

"  Irkxk  IIuntixgdox. 

"  Ilntitiiifjflon  IIlll,Junf,  1861." 

As  tlif  r<'^inii;iit  prepared  to  march  to  Mrf. 
CLunhliili's  n-sidi'iice,  tlie  note  was  riH-eived 
from  Aiidrow'ii  hands.  Roturnina  his  sword  to 
its  scaliJ'anl,  the  eoloncl  read  the  paper  twice, 
.three  time-^ — a  Iieavy  frown  <:at.hered  on  his 
foreheail,  his  swarthy  cheek  fuxHl,  and,  thrust- 
injr  the  note  into  his  pocket,  he  turned  toward 
hilt  replnient,  saying  hastily  to  the  servant : 

"  You  need  not  wait.  No  answer  is  ex- 
pected." ' 

At  tiic  breakfast-table  Irene  opened  a  hasty 
missive  from  Salome,  inviting;  her  to  be  pres- 
ent at  the  presentation  of  the  flaj;,  and  be<:- 
pnp  a  few  elioice  flowers  for  the  occasion. 
Smiling  quietly,  she  filled  the  accompanying 
basket  with  some  of  the  rarest  treasures  of  tlie 
green  -  house,  added  a  bowl  of  raspberries 
which  the  gardener  had  just  brought  in,  and 
•ent  all,  with  a  brief  line  excusing  herself  from 
attending. 

The  morning  was  .«pont  in  writing  to  her 
father,  preparing  a  parcel  for  him,  and  in  su- 
perintending the  making  of  a  large  quantity 
of  blackberry  jelly  and  cordial  for  the  use  of 
the  hospitals. 

About  noon  Dr.  Arnold  came,  and  found  her 
engaged  in  .sealing  up  a  number  of  the  jars, 
all  neatly  labelled.  The  day  was  warm  ;  she 
bad  puslicd  back  her  hair  from  her  brow,  as 
she  bent  over  her  work  ;  the  full  sleeves  were 
pinned  up  above  the  elbow,  and  she  wore  a 
white  check-muslin  apron  to  protect  her  dress 
from  the  resin  and  beeswax. 

"  In  the  name  of  Medea  and  her  Colcbian 
caldron  !  what  are  you  about,  Irene  ?" 

*'  Fi.xing  a  box  of  hospital  stores  for  you  to 
take  with  you." 

"  Fixing  !  you  Yankee  !  crucify  that  word  ! 
I  detest  it.  Say  arranging,  getting  up,  putting 
in  order,  aggregating,  conglomerating,  or  what 
vou  will,  but  save  my  ears  from  'fixing!' 
IIow  do  I  know  that  all  that  trash  was  n't 
boiled  in  a  brass  kettle,  and  is  not  rank  poi- 
son ?" 

"Because  I  always  use  a  porcelain  kettle, 
sir.  Here  is  a  glass;  try  some  of  my  'trash.' 
lam  determined  to  receive  you  'cordially.'" 

"Take  my  advice,  Queen,  and  never  at- 
tempt another  pun  so  long  as  life  and  reason 
•arc  spared  to  you.  It  is  an  execrable,  heath- 
enish, uncivil  practice,  which  slioiihl  be  tal>oo- 
ed  in  all  well-regulated  respectabK;  families. 
As  a  clasF,  your  punsters  are  a  desperate, 
vinegar  -  souled  set.  Old  Samuel  Jolmson 
treated  the  worKl  to  a  remarkably  correct  es- 
timate of  the  whole  sorry  tribe.  Just  a  hall- 
glass  more.  You  have  spilled  a  drop  on  your 
immaculate  apron.  Well,  your  pun  and  your 
cordial  are  about  on  a  par;  not  exactly  either — 


for  one  has  too  much  spice,  and  the  other  nona 
at  all."' 

"  Well,  then,  Fadladoen.  I  will  reconsider, 
and  send  the  box  to  a  Richmond  hospital." 

"  No;  give  it  to  me.  The  poor  fellows  who 
are  to  use  it  may  not  be  so  fastiilious.  IIow 
much  longer  do  you  inti-nd  to  sit  here?  I  di«l 
not  come  to  make  my  visit  to  the  ])antry." 

"  I  have  finished,  sir.  Let  mc  wash  my 
hands,  and  I  will  give  you  some  lunch  in  tl>« 
diiiiniT-room." 

"  No  ;  I  lunched  with  the  Israelites.  S.ilotn* 
was  brilliant  as  a  Rrazilian  firi'tly,  and  pre- 
sented her  banner  quite  gracefully.  Aubrey 
looked  splendidly  in  his  uiiifoi  in  ;  was  superbly 
happy  in  his  speech — always  is.  IMadam  did 
the  honors  inimitably,  and.  in  fine — give  mo 
that  fan  on  the  table — everything  was  decid- 
e<lly  coninir  il  faut.  You  were  expected,  an<l 
you  ought  to  have  gone;  it  lookeil  spiteful  to 
stay  away.  I  should  absolutely  like  to  see  you 
subjected  to  212''  Fahrenheit,  in  order  to 
mark  the  result.  Here  I  am  almost  suflboating 
with  the  heat,  which  would  be  respectable  in 
Soudan,  and  you  sit  there  bolt  upright,  look- 
ing as  cool  as  a  west  wind  in  March.  Beauty, 
you  should  get  yourself  patented  as  a  social 
refrigerator,  "  Warranted  proof  against  the 
dog-days."  What  rigmarole  do  you  want  m«i 
to  repeat  to  Leonard  r" 

"  I  have  sent  a  parcel  and  a  letter  to  your 
buggy.  Please  hand  them  to  father,  and  tell 
him  that  I  am  well." 

"  And  what  is  to  become  of  my  conscienwi 
in  the  meantime  ?" 

"  Doctor,  I  might  answer  in  the  words  of 
Raphael  to  the  Prefect  of  Alexandria  :  '  What 
will  become  of  it  in  any  case,  my  most  excel- 
lent lord  •"" 

"  Humph,  child  !  I  am  not  such  a  repro- 
bate, after  all.  But  I  am  thankful  I  am  not 
as  some  pharisecs  I  know." 

Sho  looked  up  in  his  harsh  face  to  read  its 
meaning.  He  leaneil  forward,  seized  her 
haiid!i,  and  said,  hurriedly  : 

"  Don't  look  so  much  like  one  of  your  own 
pigeons  might,  if  you  had  coaxed  it  to  come 
to  you,  aiid  then  slapped  it  off.  ,  When  I  say 
bitter  things,  you  may  be  sure  you  are  the  last 
ner.-on  in  my  thoughts.  Straighten  that  bent 
lip;  I  did  not  allude  to  you,  my  starry  priest- 
ess. I  meant  all  that  noisy  crew  dowa  towa, 
who — ." 

"  Let  them  rest;  neither  you  nor  I  have  any 
interest  in  them.  I  wish,  il'  you  please,  when 
you  get  to  Manassa,  that  you  would  persuad* 
father  to  allow  me  to  come,  at  least,  as  far  aa 
Richmond.  Y'^ou  have  some  influence  with 
him  ;  will  you  use  it  In  my  favor  V" 

"  You  aic  better  off  at  home ;  you  could 
possibly  do  no  good." 

"  Still  I  want  to  go.  Remember,  my  father 
is  all  I  have  in  this  world." 

"  And  what  have  you  elsewhere,  Irene  ?^ 

"  My  mother,  my  Saviour,  and  my  God." 


MACARIA. 


141 


"  Are  you,  then,  so  very  anxious  to  go  to 
Vjrginia  V"  lie  repeated,  after  a  pause. 

•'I  am.     1  want  to  be  near  father." 

'"Well,  I  will  see  wliat  I  can  do  with  him. 
If  I  fail,  recoilett  that  he  is  not  proverbial  for 
pliability.  Look  here  —  are  you  nervous  ? 
Your  fiiijicrs  twitch,  and  so  do  your  eyelids 
occasionally,  and  your  pulse  is  twenty  beats  too 
quick." 

"  1  believe  I  am  rather  nervous  to-day." 

♦'  Why  so  ?" 

"I  did  not  sleep  last  night;  that  is  one 
•ause,  I  suppose." 

"And  the  reason  why  you  did  not  sleep? 
Be  honest  with  mo." 

"My  tliouglits,  sir,  were  very  painful.  Do 
you  wonder  at  it,  in  the  present  state  of  the 
oountry  ?" 

"  Irene,  answer  me  one  question,  dear  child  : 
what  does  the  future  contain  lor  you  ?  AVhat 
hope  have  you  V — what  do  you  live  lor  ?" 

"  I  have  much  to  be  gratelul  for — much  that 
makes  me  happy  ;  and  I  hope  to  do  some  good 
in  the  world  while  I  live.  I  want  to  be  use- 
ful^— to  feel  that  I  have  gladdened  some  hearts, 
strengthened  some  desponding  spirits,  cairied 
balm  to  some  hearth-stones,  shed  some  happi- 
ness on  the  paths  of  those  who  walk  near  me 
through  life.  There  are  seasons  when  1  regret 
my  incapacity  to  accomplish  more  ;  but  at  such 
times,  when  disposed  to  lament  the  limited 
sphere  of  woman's  influence,  I  am  reminded 
of  Pascal's  grand  definition :  '  A  spliere  of 
which  the  centre  is  everywhere,  the  cireuni- 
fei'enee  nowhere;'  and  1  feel  encouraged  to 
hope  that,  alter  all,  woman  s  circle  of  action 
will  prove  as  sublime  and  extended.  Doctor, 
remember : 

~ No  stream  from  its  aonrce 

Plows  Bciiward,  luiw  luiidy  goevor  its  course, 
liiit  wliat  Humc  liinij  iii  gliiijiiened.     No  sUtr  ever  rose 
And  But.  witliuiit  inlliieiice  suuiewliei.e.     Wliu  knows 
Wluit  e.ii  til  iirfiis  tnim  eurtb's  lowest  crmituiv?  No  life 
Can  bv  piiru  in  its  imiporje  and  strong  in  its  stiifo. 
And  all  Jil«  not  bo  jiuier  and  stronger  tLertby." 

"  But  who  pointed  your  aims,  and  taught 
you  these  theories?" 

"  The  emptiness  of -my  former  life. — the  in- 
.^atiable  yearning  for  solid,  unalloyed  happiness. 
1  enjoy  society,  and  cling  to  many  social  tics  ; 
but  these  alone  could  not  content  me.  1  love 
the  world  better,  lor  striving  to  be  of  some  little 
use  to  it,  and  i  should  be  pained  to  have  any- 
body believe  that  1  have  grown  misanthropic 
or  cynical,  simply  because  i  sometimes  tire  of  a 
ronnd  of  gayeiy,  and  endeavor  to  employ  uiy 
time  usefully,  and  for  the  benefit  of  my  race. 
1  felt  the  pressure  of  the  iron  signet  which  the 
Creator  set  to  his  high  commissions  for  life-long 
human  labor,  and,  breaking  the  spell  of  inertia 
that  bound  me,  1  have,  in  part,  my  reward. 

* Oet  IcBT*  to  woi'k 

In  tliii  world,  't  is  tUo  best  yuu  grt  at  all ; 

yor  Oud,  in  ciirsinf;.  give*  us  belter  gifts 

Titan  men  in  beiuMictiun.     (iod  siiys  'sweat 

Fur  rorche«as ;'  uk-u  si*/  '  crowns ;'  and  so  we  are  rrowned, 


Ay,  gnshed  by  some  tormenting  circle  ofsteel 

Which  snaps  with  a  secret  spring.     Get  work;  gat  work  ; 

Be  sure  t  is  better  than  what  you  work  to  get.' 

God  knows  we  do  little  enough  for  each  other 
in  this  whirl  of  selfishness  and  grasping  after 
gain." 

"  Have  you,  then,  fully  resolved  to  remain 
single  V"  ' 

"  Why  do  you  ask  me  that,  Dr.  Arnold  '?" 

"  Because  you  are  dear  to  me,  Queen  ;  and 
I  should  like  to  see  you  happily  married  before 
I  am  laid  away  in  my  grave." 

"  You  will  never  see  it.  Be  sure  I  shall  live 
and  die  Irene  Huntingdon." 

"  What  has  induced  you  to  doom  yourself 
to  a ." 

"Ask  me  no  more,  Doctor.  If  I  am  content 
with  my  lot,  who  else  has  the  right  t» 
question  V" 

lie  looked  into  that  fair  chiselled  face,  and 
wondered  whether  she  could  be  truly  "coi>- 
tent ;"  and  the  purity  and  peace  in  her  deep 
calm  eyes  baffled  him  sorely.  She  rose,  and 
laid  her  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Dr.  Arnold,  promise  me  that,  if  there  i.<<  a 
battle,  and  father  .should  be  hurt,  you  will  tele- 
grajih  me  at  once.  Do  not  hesitate — let  m« 
know  the  truth  immediately.      Will  you  V" 

"  I  promise!" 

"And  now,  sir,  what  can  I  make  or  havo 
made  for  you,  which  will  conduce  to  your 
comfort?" 

"  Have  you  any  old  linen  left  about  tho 
house,  that  could  be  useful  among  th« 
wounded  ?" 

"  1  have  sent  off  a  good  deal,  but  have  some 
left.  Jn  what  form  do  you  want  it  ?  As  lint, 
or  bandages  V" 

"  Neither;  pac#  it  just  as  it  is,  and  send  it 
on  by  express.  I  can't  carry  the  world  on  my 
shoulders." 

"Anything  else  ?" 

"  Write  to  the  overseer's  wife  to  sow  all  tho 
mustard -seed  see  can  lay  her  hands  on,  and 
save  ail  the  sage  she  can.  And,  Irene,  be  sure 
to  send  me  every  drop  of  honey  you  can  Spare. 
That  is  all,  I  believe.  Jf  I  think  of  anything 
else,  I  will  write  you." 

"  Will  you  take  Cyrus  with  you?" 

"  Of  course.  What  guarantee  have  I  that 
some  villainous  stray  shell  or  shot  may  not 
ricochet,  and  shave  my  head  off?  I  shall  take 
him  along  to  drag  me  off  the  field,  in  any  such 
emergency  ;  for  if  I  am  not  a  Christian  myself, 
1  want  to  be  buried  by  Chrislian  people — not 
by  those  puritanical  golden-calf  worshippers, 
of  higher-law  '  notoriety." 

"1  trust  that,  ill  the  exercise  of  your  pro- 
fessional duties,  you  will  be  in  no  danger. 
Surgeons  are  rarely  hurt,  I  believe." 

"Not  so  sure  of  that.  Spherical-case  or 
grape-shot  have  very  little  respect  for  scientific 
proficiency  or  venerable  old  age.  One  thing 
IS  certain,  however — if  anything  happens  to 
mo,  Cyrus  will  bring  me  home  ;  and  1  want  a 


142 


MACARIA. 


quiet  place  near  your  lot  in  the  cemetery, 
■where  your  hands,  Queen,  will  sometimes  be 
about  my  grave.  Ah,  child  !  I  have  lived  a 
lonely,  savage  sort  of  life,  and  spent  little  love 
on  the  world,  or  the  people  about  me.  I  have 
had  neither  wife,  nor  children,  nor  sist<*r  in  my 
Lome,  to  humanize  me ;  but  you  have  always 
had  a  large  share  of  my  heart,  and  even  Leon- 
ard can  hardly  love  you  better  than  I  do. 
Think  of  me  sometimes,  Queen,  and  write  to 
me  freel}-.  No  eyes  but  mine  will  ever  see 
your  letters." 

He  stood  with  his  hands  on  her  shoulders, 
speaking  falteringly ;  and,  unable  to  reply 
immediately,  she  turned  her  lips  to  the  large 
brawny  hand  which  had  caressed  her  for 
twenty -five  years. 

Making  a  great  effort,  she  said,  pleadingly : 

"  Dr.  Arnold,  when  1  pray  tbr  father,  I 
always  include  you  in  my  petitions.  Do  you 
never  intend  to  pray  for  yourself?" 

"  I  should  not  know  how  to  begin  now,  my 
child." 

•'  Words  always  come  with  will.  Postpone 
it  no  longer.  (Jh,  Doctor  1  I  beg  of  you  to 
begin  at  once." 

Her  lasljes  were  heavy  with  unshed  tears,  as 
the  looked  up  in  his  face. 

"  I  have  laiih  in  your  prayers,  Queen,  but 
not  in  my  own.  Fray  for  me  always,  dear 
child.  God  bless  you  !  my  comfort,  my  light, 
in  a  dark,  troubled  world  of  sin." 

He  stooped,  kissed  her  forehead,  and  hurried 
out  to  his  buggy. 

She  could  not  realize  that  he  would  be  ex- 
posed to  such  imminent  danger  as  many  others 
— and,  having  concluded  her  packing  and  de- 
spatched the  box  to  the  depi^,  she  wrote  a  few 
hues  to  a  well  known  boot- seller,  and  sent 
Andrew  to  the  store.  An  hour  after  he 
returned,  bringing  a  package  of  small,  but 
elegantly  bound  bibles.  From  among  the 
number  she  selected  one  of  beautil'ul,  clear 
■tyj)e,  and  taking  it  to  iier  room,  locked  herself 
in  to  escape  all  intrusion. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

The  summer  day  was  near  its  death  when 
Col.  Aubrey  rode  up  the  stately  avenue, 
whose  cool  green  arches  were  slowly  filling 
with  shadows.  Fastening  his  .spirited  horse  to 
the  iron-  post,  he  ascended  the  marble  steps, 
and  Johu  received  his  card,  and  ushered  him 
into  the  liont  parlor.  The  rich  lace  curtains 
were  caught  back  from  the  wide  windows  to 
admit  the  air,  and  the  whole  room  was  flooded 
with  Aibtle  into.x.icating  perfume,  from  nu- 
mci-ous  elegant  vases  ol  rare  flowers,  which 
crowned  mantle,  elagere,  and  centre-table. 
On  a  small  j>apier-mache  stand  drawn  before 
one  of  the  windows  stood  an  exquisite  cut- 
gljiss  bowl,  fringed  at  the  edge  with  geranium 


leaves,  and  filled  with  pcrfef't  goMcn-hearted 
water-lilies,  whose  snowy  petals  spread  them- 
selves regally,  breathing  incense.  The  proud 
and  moody  visitor  regardeil  them  a  moment, 
then  his  piercing  eye  ran  around  the  room,  and 
rested  upon  a  large  oral  picture  on  the  oppo- 
site wall.  This  portrait  of  Irene  had  been 
painted  soon  after  she  kft  school,  and  repre- 
sented only  the  face  and  bust  rising  out  of  a 
luminous  purplish  mist — a  face  which  might 
have  served  fur  Guido's  Aurora.  Clad  in  the 
handsome  glittering  uniform,  which  showed 
his<iobly-proportionod  and  powerful  figure  so 
advantageously,  the  oflicer  stood,  hat  in  hand, 
tlie  long  sable  plume  drooping  toward  the 
floor;  and,  as  he  scanned  the  portrait,  his  lips 
moved,  and  these  words  crept  inaudibly,  mut- 
teringly,  over  them ; 

"Rcholil  lier  tliere, 
As  I  beheld  her  ere  the  knew  my  hcurt: 
M.v  first,  lust  liive;  tba  idul  of  my  yiiilli. 
The  ilai'lin^  of  my  uiuiihDuJ,  ilixt,  hIiu  \ 
Kow  Ihc  Uii.'Bt  blessed  memory  of  mine  nge." 

.'.'.The  frown  on  his  face  deepened  almost  to  a 
scowl,  indescribably  stern  ;  he  turned  abruptly 
away,  and  looked  through  the  oj)en  window 
out  upon  the  lawn,  where  flashes  of  sunshine 
and  dusky  shadows  struggled  for  mastery. 
The  next  moment  Irene  stood  at  the  door ;  he 
turned  his  head,  and  they  were  face  to  face 
once  more. 

Her  dress  was  of  swiss  muslin,  revealing  her 
dazzlins  shoulders  and  every  dimple  and 
eurve  of  her  arms.  The  glittering  bronze 
hair  was  looped  and  fastened  with  blue  rib- 
bons, and  from  the  heavy  folds  her  fa^'oritu 
clematis  bells  hung  quivering  with  every 
motion,  and  matching,  in  depth  of  hue,  the 
violets  that  clustered  on  her  bosom.  The 
crystal  calmness  of  the  countenance  was 
broken  at  last ;  a  new  strange  light  brimmed 
the  unfathomable  eyes,  and  broke  in  radiant 
ripples  round  the  matchless  mouth.  On  the 
white  brow,  with  its  marble-liko  gleam,  "  pure 
lilies  of  eternal  peace  "  seemed  resting,  as 

'*  ShcUx>ko<l  down  ou  him  from  tlie  \rholo 
Lunc'ly  length  of  a  life.    Tburo  worv  iii\<l  nightt  and  day*. 
There  were  long  inouthi  and  years,  in  thul  haartHieracb- 
ing  gftno." 

Never  had  her  extraordinary  beauty  to 
stirred  his  heart;  a  faint  (lusli  tinged  his  cheek, 
but  he  bowed  frigidly,  and  haughtily  his  word* 
broke  the  silence. 

"  You  sent  for  me.  Miss  Huntingdon,  and  I 
obeyed  your  command.  Nothing  less  would 
have  brought  me  to  your  i)resence." 

She  crossed  the  room  and  stood  before  him, 
holding  out  both  hands,  while  her  scarlet  lips 
fluttered  perceptibly.  Instead  of  receiving 
the  hands  he  drew  back  a  step,  and  crossed 
his  arms  proudly  over  his  chost.  She  raised 
her  fascinating  eyes  to  his,  folded  her  palms 
together,  and,  pressing  them  to  her  heart,  said, 
slowly  and  distinctly  : 

"  I  heard  that  you  wero  ordered  to  Virginia, 


MACARIA. 


143 


to  the  post  of  clanger ;  and  knowing  to  what 
risks  j'ou  will  be  exposed,  I  wished  to  sec  you 
at  least  once  more  in  this  world.  Perhaps  the 
step  I  am  taking  may  be  condemned  by  some, 
as  a  deviation  from  tlic  delicacy  of  ray  sex — I 
trust  I  am  not  wanting  in  proper  appreciation 
of  what  is  due  to  my  own  self-respect — but  the 
feelings  which  I  have  crushed  back  so  long, 
now  demand  utterance.  Russoll,  I  have  de- 
termined to  break  the  seal  of  many  years 
silence — to  roll  away  the  stone  from  the  sepul- 
chre— to  tell  you  all.  I  feel  that  you  and  I 
must  understand  each  other  before  we  part 
for  all  time,  and,  therefore,  I  sent  for  you." 

She  paused,  drooping  her  head,  unable  to 
meet  his  searching  steady  black  eyes  riveted 
upon  hers;  and,  drawing  his  tall  athletic  figure 
to  its  utmost  height,  he  asked,  defiantly  : 

"  You  sent  for  me  through  compassionate 
compunctions,  then — intending,  at  the  close,  to 
be  magnanimous,  and,  in  lieu  of  disdain,  tell 
me  that  you  pity  me  ?" 

"  Pity  you  ?  No,  Russell ;  I  do  not  pity 
you." 

"It  is  well.  1  neither  deserve  nor  desire 
it." 

"  What  motive  do  you  suppose  prompted 
me  to  send  for  you  on  the  eve  of  your  depart- 
ure ?" 

"  I  am  utterly  at  a  loss  to  conjecture.  I 
once  thought  you  too  generous  to  wish  to 
inflict  pain  unnecessarily  on  anyone  ;  but  God 
knows  this  interview  is  inexpressibly  painful 
to  me." 

A  numbing  suspicion  crossed  her  mind, 
blanching  lip  and  cheek  to  the  hue  of  death, 
and  hardening  her  into  the  old  statue-like  ex- 
pression. Had  he,  indeed,  ceased  to  love  her  ? 
Had  Salome  finally  won  her  place  in  his 
heart?  He  saw,  without  comprehending,  the 
instantaneous  change  which  swept  over  her 
features,  and  regarded  her  with  mingled  im- 
patience and  perplexity. 

"  If  such  be  the  truth.  Col.  Aubrey,  the 
interview  is  ended." 

lie  bowed,  and  turned  partially  away,  but 
paused   irresolute,  chained   by  that  electrical 

t)ale  face,  which  no  man,  woman,  or  child  ever 
ooked  at  without  emotion. 

"  Before  we  part,  probably  for  ever,  I  should 
like  to  know  wliy  3'ou  «ent  for  me." 

"  Do  you  remember  that,  one  year  ago  to- 
night, we  sat  on  the  steps  of  the  Factory,  and 
you  told  me  of  the  feehng  you  had  cherished 
for  me  froiH  your  boyhood  ?  ' 

"  It  was  a  meeting  too  fraught  with  pain 
and  mortification  to  be  soon  forgott«n." 

"  I  believe  you  thought  me  cold,  heartless, 
and  unfeeling  then  V" 

*'  Tiiere  was  no  room  to  doubt  it.  Your 
haughty  coldness  carried  its  own  interpreta- 
tion." 

"  Because  I  knew  that  such  was  the  harsh 
opinion  you  had  cnttrtained  for  twelve 
months,  I  sought  this  opportaaitj  to  relieve 


myself  of  an  unjust  imputation.  If  peace  had 
been  preserved,  and  you  had  always  remained 
quietly  here,  1  should  never  have  undeceived 
you — for  the  same  imperative  reasons,  the  sam« 
stern  necessity,  which  kept  me  silent  on  th« 
nicht  to  which  I  allude,  would  have  sealed  my 
lililithrough  life.  But  all  things  are  changed  ; 
you  are  going  into  the  very  jaws  of  death, 
with  what  result  no  human  foresight  can  pre- 
dict ;  and  now,  after  long  suflV  ring,  I  feel  that 
I  have  earned  and  may  claim  the  right  to 
speak  to  you  of  that  which  I  have  always  eo*- 
pectcd  to  bury  with  me  in  my  grave." 

Again  her  crowned  head  bowed  itself. 

Past  bitterness  and  wounded  pride  were  in- 
stantly forgotten  ;  hope  kindled  in  his  dark, 
stern  face  a  beauty  that  rarely  dwelt  there, 
and,  throwing  down  his  hat,  he  stepped  for- 
ward and  took  her  folded  hands  in  his  strong 
grasp. 

"Irene,  do  you  intend  me  to  understand — 
are  you  willing  that  I  shall  believe  that,  after 
all,  I  have  an  interest  in  your  heart — that  I  am 
more  to  you  than  you  ever  before  deigned  to 
let  me  know  ?  If  it,  indeed,  be  so,  oh  !  giva 
me  the  unmistakable  assurance." 

Her  lips  moved ;  he  stooped  his  haughtj 
head  to  catch  the  low,  fluttering  words. 

"You  said  that  night:  'I  conld  forgiva 
your  father  all !  all !  if  I  knew  that  he  had 
not  so  successfully  hardened,  closed  your  heart 
against  me.'  Forgive  him,  Russell.  You  never 
can  know  ajl  that  you  have  been  to  me  from 
my  childhood.  Only  God,  who  sees  my  heart, 
knows  what  suffering  our  long  alienation  hait 
cost  nie." 

An  instant  he  wavered,  his  strong  frame 
quivered,  and  then  he  caught  her  exultingly 
in  his  arms,  resting  her  head  upon  his  bosom, 
leaning  his  swarthy  hot  cheek  on  hers,  cold 
and  transparent  as  alabaster. 

"  At  last  I  realize  the  one  dream  of  my  life! 
I  hold  you  to  my  heart,  acknowledged  all  my 
own  !  Who  shall  dare  dispute  the  right  your 
lips  have  given  me  ?  Hatred  is  powerless  now  ; 
none  shall  come  between  ms  and  my  own. 
Oh,  Irene  !  my  beautiful  darling !  not  all  my 
ambitious  hopes,  not  all  the  future  holds,  not 
time,  nor  eternity,  could  purchase  the  proud, 
inexpressible  joy  of  this  assurance.  I  hav« 
toiled  and  struggled,  I  have  suOered  in  si- 
lence ;  I  have  triumphed  and  risen  in  a  world 
that  sometimes  stung  my  fiery  heart  almost  to 
madness;  and  I  have  exulted,  I  have  gloried, 
in  my  hard-earned  success.  But  ambition 
dims,  and  my  laurels  wither,  in  comparison 
with  the  precious,  priceless  consciousness  of 
your  love.  I  said  ambition  ,^hall  content  me — 
shall  usurp  the  pedoital  where,  long  ago,  I 
lifted  a  fair  girlish  image ;  but  the  old  worship 
followed,  haunted  mo  continually.  1  looked 
up  from  MS.  speeches  to  find  your  incompara- 
ble magnetic  eyes  before  me;  and  now,  in  tha 
midst  of  bitterness  and  loneliness,  I  have  mv 
great  reward.     God  bless  you,  Irene  1  for  this 


U4 


MACAKIA. 


one  hour  of  pcrffct  happiness  In  a  cold  and  | 
jojless  life.  If,  wliiii  disappointed  and  baffled 
by  your  habitual  poli.-hed  reserve.  I  have  saiil 
or  done  Iiarsh,  unjust  ibintis,  ^?llit•h  wounded 
;ou,  forgive  ine — renifniberinj;  only  luy  love, 
and  my  torturing  dread  lii.it  you  would  beeome 
iiainbridge's  wife.  Oh!  that  was  the  ^st 
horrible  apprehension  that  ever  2>osse8sed 
me." 

"  Instead  of  cherishing  your  affection  for 
me,  you  siru;i;.'li'd  against  it  with  ail  the  ener- 
gy of  your  rhuracter.  I  havf.  seen,  for  some 
ume,  that  you  were  striving  to  crush  it  out — 
to  forgtt  nie.  entirely." 

"1  do  not  deny  it;  and  certainly  you  ought 
not  to  blame  nic.  You  kept  me  at  a  distance 
with  your  chilling,  yet  graceful,  fascinating 
hauleur.  I  ha<l  nothing  to  hope — everything 
to  .sullcr.  1  diligently  set  to  work  to  expel 
you  utterly  from  my  thoughts;  and,  I  tell  you 
candidly,  1  endeavored  to  love  another,  who 
was  brilliant,  and  witty,  and  universally  ad- 
mired. IJut  her  fitlul,  stormy,  exacting  tem- 
perament was  too  much  like  ray  own  to  suit 
me.  1  tried  laitlifully  to  become  attached  to 
her,  intending  to  make  her  \}\y  wife,  but  I 
lailed  bignully.  My  heart  clung  stubbornly  to 
its  old  worship;  my  restless,  liery  spirit  could 
find  no  re|tfse,  no  iiappiness,  save  in  the  puri- 
ty, the  prolound  marviUous  calm  of  your  na- 
ture, i'ou  became  the  syifonyme  of  peace, 
re^t;  and,  because  you  gave  me  no  friendly 
word  or  glance,  locking  your  passionless  face 
against  me,  I  grew  savage  toward  you.  Did 
you  believe  that  1  would  marry  (Salome  V" 

"  No !  I  had  faith  that,  despite  your  angry 
efforts,  your  heart  would  be  true  to  me." 

"  Why  did  you  inflict  so  much  pain  on  us 
both,  when  a  word  would  have  explained  all  V 
When  the  assurance  you  have  given  me  to-day 
would  have  sweetened  the  past  years  of  trial/" 

"Because  1  knew  it  would  not  have  that 
effect.  1  am  constitutionally  more  patient 
than  you,  and  yet,  willi  all  my  ellbrts  to  be 
resigned  to  what  could  not  be  remedied,  and 
to  bear  my  sorrow  witii  fortitude,  1  found  my- 
.<telf  disposed  to  repine  ;  and,  because  1  was  so' 
pure  ol  your  allection  to  — 

"  Crjr  to  the  wiude,  oh,  God  !  it  might  hate  been." 

A  belief  of  my  indifference  steeled  you 
against  me — nerved  you  to  endurance.  But  a 
knowledge  of  the  truth  would  have  increased 
your  acrimony  of  feeling  toward  him  whom 
you  regarded  as  the  chief  obstacle,  and  this, 
at  ajl  hazards,  1  was  resolved  to  avoid,  lius- 
■ttll,  I  knew  that  our  relations  could  never  bo 
changed;  that  the  barriers,  lor  which  neither 
you  nor  1  are  responsible  in  any  degree,  were 
insurmountable;  and  that,  in  this  world,  we 
must  walk  widely-diverging  paths,  exchanging 
few  words  of  sympathy.  Because  1  realized 
»o  fully  the  neccs.Miy  ol  estrangement,  1  should 
never  have  ac<iuainled  you  with  my  own  feel- 
ings, had  1  not  known  that  a  long,  and  per- 


haps final,  separation  now  stretches  before  us. 
In  the  gainful  course  which  duty  imposed  on 
me,  I  have  striven  to  promote  your  ultimato 
happiness,  rather  than  my  own." 

'•  Irene,  how  can  you  persuade  yourself  that 
it  is  your  duty  to  obey  an  unjust  and  tyranni- 
cal decree,  which  sacrifices  the  happiness  of 
two  to  the  unreasonable  vindictiveneas  of 
one  ?" 

"Remember  that  you  are  speaking  of  my 
father,  and  tlo  not  make  me  regret  that  I  hav« 
seen  you  in  his  house." 

"  You  must  not  expect  of  me  more  for- 
bearance than  my  nature  is  capable  of.  I 
have  lost  too  much  ihrougli  his  injustice  to 
bear  my  injuries  coolly.  1  was  never  a  meek 
man,  and  strife  and  trial  have  not  sweetened 
my  temper.  If  you  love  me,  and  the  belief  is 
too  precious  to  me  to  be  (jucstioncd  now,  I 
hold  it  your  duty  to  me  and  to  \o«irown  heart 
to  give  yourself  to  me,  to  gild  our  future  with 
the  happiness  of  which  the  i)ast  has  been 
cheated.  Y'our  father  has  no  right  to  bind 
^our  life  a  sacrifice  upon  the  altar  of  his  ira- 
j)lacable  hate  ;  nor  have  you  a  right  to  doom 
yourself  and  me  to  life-long  sorrow,  because  of 
an  ancient  leud,  which  neither  of  us  had  any 
ageiuy  in  effecting." 

"  iHity,  because  inflexible  and  involving 
great  pain,  is  not  thereibre  less  imperative. 
Kussell,  have  you  forgotten  Chelonis  .'" 

lie  tightened  his  clas^jing  arm?,  and  ex- 
claimed: 

"  Ah,  Irene !  I  would  willingly  go  into 
exile,  with  you  for  my  Chelonis.  I'erisii  am- 
bition !  live  only  such  a  future.  But  you 
remember  nothing  but  Chelonis'  filial  obliga^ 
tions,  lorgetting  all  she  owed,  and  all  she  nobly 
gave,  Cieombrotus.  If  you  would  lay  your 
Lands  in  mine,  and  give  me  his  right,  oh  ! 
what  a  glory  would  crown  the  coming  years! 
Irene,  before  it  is  too  late,  have  mercy  on  us 
both.". 

blie  lifted  her  head  from  his  shoulder,  and 
looked  uj)  pleadingly  in  hisjluslied,  eager  faco. 

"  Kussell,  do  not  urge  me;  it  is  useless.  Spare 
me  the  pain  of  repeated  refusals,  and  be  satis- 
lied  witii  what  1  have  given  yon.  Believe 
that  my  heart  is,  and  ever  will  be,  yours  en- 
tirely, though  i\jy  hand  you  can  never  claim. 
1  know  what  1  owe  my  lather,  ami  1  will  pay 
to  the  last  iota;  and  I  know  as  well  whatlowo 
myself,  and,  therefore,  1  shall  live  true  to  my 
lir»t  aud  only  love,  and  die  Irene  Huntingdon. 
More  than  this  you  have  no  right  to  ask  —  I 
no  ri;;ht  to  grant.  Be  patient,  Kussell  ;  b« 
generous." 

"  Patient !  patient  I  I  am  but  human/' 

♦'  Kisu  above  the  human  ;  remember  that,  at 
best,  life  is  short,  and  that  after  a  little  while 
eternity  will  stretch  its  holy  circles  belbro  our 
leet.  Such  is  my  hope.  I  look  down  the 
lonely,  silent  vista  of  my  coming  years,  whose, 
niches  are  filled,  not  with  joy,  but  quiet  res- 
ignation— and  I  see  beyond  the  calm  shores  of 


MACARIA.  145 

Rest,  where,  I'f  faittful  here,  you  and  I  may  I  "Ah  !  but  the  wages  are  hollow.  My  am- 
clasp  hands  for  ever  !  To  me  this  is  no  dim,  bition  has  aheady  been  gratified  to  s^oine  k-x- 
shadowy,  oceasional  comfort,  but  a  fixed,  firm,  |  tent,  and  in  the  very  flush  of  iriuuinli  I  sat 
priceless  trust."  .,,,,.  !  ^o*^"  ^«  ^'^t  its  Iruit,  and  smiled  gnmly  over 

bhe  iult  the  deep,  rapid  throbbing  of  his  i  its  dust  and  ashes." 
heart,  as  he  held  her  to  his  bosom  ;  and  a  dark  I      -  Because  self-aggrandizement  was  then  the 
cloud  ot  sorrow  settled  on  his  features,  while    sole  aim.     liut  a  liolier,  a  more  disinterested 
he  listened  to  her  low,   sweet,   steady   voice,    unselfish  ambition  to  serve  only  God    Truth' 
He  kissed  her  twice,  and  said,  huskily  :  I        .-  ■..  •  .  .    •>        ".   -^uia, 

"  Do  you  intend  to  send  me  from  you  ?  To 
meet  me  henceforth  as  a  stranger  r"' 

"  Circumstances,  which  I  can  not  control, 
make  it  necessary.' 

"At  least  you  will  let  me  hear,  from  you 
sometimes?  You  will  give  me  the  privilege 
of  writing  to  you  ?" 

"  Iini)ossible,  Russell ;  do  not  ask  that  of  me." 
"  Oh,  Irene !  you  are  cruel !     Why  withhold 
that  melancholy  comlbrt  from  me  V" 

I'  Simply  lor  the  reason  that  it  would  una- 
voidably prove  a  SQurce  of  pain  to  both.  I 
judge  you  by  myself  A  correspondence 
would  keep  your  mind  constantly  harassed  on 
a  subject  which  time  will  inevitably  soften, 
mellow  ;  and  the  expectation  of  letters  from 
you  would  induce  a  feverish  excitement  and 
impatience  in  my  own  heart,  which  1  wish  to 
escape.  It  would  feed  useless  regrets,  and  be 
productive  only  of  harm.  I  want  neither 
your  usefulness  in  life  nor  mine  impaired  bj 


and  Country,  will  insure  a  blessed  conscious- 
ness of  well -spent  years  and  consecrated 
talents,  comlbrting  beyond  all  else  that  earth 
can  give." 

He  shook  his  head  sadly;  placing  his  palm 
under  her  chin,  and  tenderly  raising  the  lace, 
in  order  to  scan  it  fully. 

"  Irene,  oblige  me  in  what  may  seem  a  trifle  ; 
unfasten  your  hair  and  let  it  iali  around  you, 
as  1  have  seen  it  once  or  twice  in  your  lile." 

She  took  out  her  comb,  untied  the  ribbons, 
and,  passing  her  fingei-s  through  the  bands, 
shook  them  down  till  they  touclied  the  floor. 

He  passed  his  hand  caressingly  over  the 
glossy  waves,  and  smiled  proudly. 

"  How  often  I  have  lunged  to  lav  my  fingers 
on  these  rippling  lolds,  as  they  flashed  around 
you  so,  or  were  coiled  into  a  crown  about  your 
head.  With  what  a  glory  they  iuviist  you  ! 
Your  picture  there  upon  the  wall  seems  lighted 
with    the   golden   gleam.     Irene,  give   me    a 

.        ,  .    . 1- -.,     likeness  of  yourseh  as  you  stand  now.  or.  if  vou 

continual  weak  repining.     If  I  can  patiently    prefer  it,  have  a  smaller  one  pho  o.  a  /ned 
bear  a  great  sea  ot  silence  between  us  hence-  !  to-morrow  from  that  portrait,  and  st^ul  it  to 


forth,  you  certainly  should  be  stronger  ;  should 
appreciate  my  motives,  without  suspecting  any 


me  by  express.     1  shall  be  detained  in  Rich- 
mond several  days,  and  it  will  reach  me  .sately, 


d  minution  ol  aflection  on  my  part.  If  your  Do  not,  I  beg  of  you,  reluse  me  this  It ..  the 
Ide  IS  spared  1  shal  anxiously  watch  your  {  only  consolauon  i  can  have,  and  God  knows  it 
career,  rejoicing  in  all  your  honors,  and  your  is  httle  enough  !  Oh,  Irene  '  thmk  o  mv 
nob  e  use  ol  the  talent,  which  God  gave  you    loneliness,  an3  grant  this  la" Vc.,ue  ^"  ^ 

loi  the  benefit  ol  your  race  and  the  advance-  j  His,  lar«e  bntliant  eyes  were  lull  x,f  tears 
men  of  truth.  .No  matter  how  the  world  may  the  first  siie  had  ever  seen  dmi  then  llTl- 
l^Tn  ;o'ulr-"'r  'T'  'S'^^'  supposition,  I  and,  moved  by  the  grief  which  so  tran  to  fi^ed 
tell  jou  solemnly  absence  has  no  power  over  his  lineaments,  she  answered,  hastily 
a  true  woman's  heart.  Her  afiection  will  "  Ul  course,  if  you  desire  it  so  ea.nes.iv 
triumph  over  separation  over  silence,  over  though  it  wer J  muJh  beUe"r  that  v^uhrnoth' 
death  !  over  eTerytliing  but  loss  of  confidence;    ing  to  remind  you  of  me."  ^ 

over  all   but  discovered   uuworthiness  in   its  :      ••  U  ill  you  have  it  taken  to-morrow  ?" 
object.     It  can  bid  defiance  to  obstacles,  to  |      "  Yes."  morrow  / 

adverse  late  so  long  as  trust  remains  intact,  |      She  covered  her  face  with   her   han.l  •  fn. 

;l  am  not  as  noble  as  you  think  me  ;  my  !  Z:^he.-t  1"  tlnrn^ci^' ^^ 'Zlv  t 
ambition  is  not  as  unselfish   as  you  suppose.  ,  face  down  to  hers.  '  ^''  ^" 

;;  yL  mistake  your  nature.  Your  intellect  ^  ^^^i::^\::^Z:nlitrar;;:^llS^ 
and  temperament  stamp  you  one  of  the  few  '  you  can  confront  Kterni  rw  Lut  a  ,  ,h 
who  receive  ht  le  impression  from  extraneous  apprehension,  h  you  mu/t  yZlTuu  y<^rf^ 
influences;  and  it  is  because  of  this  stern,  ob-    for  ireedom    1  w;*nt  tK.   ^  "^  ^  ^  "^ 

.tinate  in<i,v.duality  of  character,  that  1  hope  j  hleTonrt^vour  final  homTir  ""'  ^""^ 
an  extended  sphere  of  usefulness  for  you,^f  God;  Tat  ou  wait  lie  Tr  m  ■  "^f  T^' 
)-o.i  survive  th,«  war.  Our  country  will  de-  when  my  TrkTs  do.ra  .d  I  t-.  i  ' 
mand  your  .services,  and  I  shall  be  proud  and  '  weary  >head  u,  reK     w  fi         '        '■    *^   ""^ 

hai.p3  ni  the  knowledge  that  you  arJfa.th.uUy  !  Tnd    p  Tid  a  bW  T  '"  T' 

rte='^"''""^'>-  ^'-^-^-°  ^'^  ^--  «'  ^    -^f  -^  ip^/al'n^l-'l^Swn:^'' i:"th^^ 
io  'realization  of  your  ambitious  dreams,  I  know 


,46  MACARIA. 

that  you  liavo  pivcn  no  tliouglit  to  tlu-sii  ihiiips; 
and  it  war*  rhiviW  my  anxiety  to  impross  upon 
yon  tluir  iuiportanci-.,  tlit-ir  vital  necesj^ity, 
wliirli  in.luoiJ  nn-  to  suml  lor  vou.  Your 
h.tnl,  biltir  lieart  must  l.e  soln-ULd;  you  must 
try  to  ovLTioine  your  vin<liilivLMii'&<;  to  cherish 
mijif  oliarlty  and  forgive  mss  lowanl  some  wlio 
have  tliwarli-d  )0U.  Sometimes,  in  watching 
your  <:loomy,  stern  faee,  1  liave  almost  de- 
spaired that  you  would  ever  feul  otherwise; 
and  many  a  ni^iiit  I  iiavc^.  prayt-d  fervuntly 
that  vou'mi;rht  be  influenled  to  make  some 
nn-pjuation  lor  futurity.  Oh.  Russell  I  I  can 
bu  bravo,  and  stron;:,  and  patient;  I  can  bear 
to  see  }  our  dear  face  no  more  in  this  world  ; 
1  can  '•iiv^i  you  up  to  our  country,  and  not 
piuriMur  that  you  liied  defending  her  liberties 
—.i!'  f  have  the  couvif.tion  that,  in  that  noble 
death,  you  found  t'u'  ^ate  of  heaven-  that  I 
shall  meet  vou  auaiu  when  my  God  calls  me 
home.  Think  of  this  when  you  have  me  lor 
tJie  K-mptations  of  cauip-lilc,  and  <ro  forth  to 
■cenes  ot  slriie  and  horror.  Think  of  it  by  day 
ar.d  ni;rht,  strivinjr  to  subdue  your  heart  ni 
aeconlanre  with  '.he  precepts  of  Clirist :  to  eX- 
ert  a  rcstr;unin<:,  pnritying  inlluence  over  your 
comi.-iajid  ;  and  remember,  oh,  remember,  Rus- 
sell !  tlial  this  is  the  only  hope  I  have  to  cheer 
ine.  Will  you  proiuise  to  read  the  bible  I  give 
you  now~lo  pray  constantly  lor  yourseli  V 
Will  you  promise  to  meet  me  beydnd  the 
crave  V"  ,       ,       i 

His  black  locks  lay  upon  hi;r  forehead  :is  lie 
struggled  for  composure,  and,  after  a  moment, 
he  answered,  soleniiiLy: 

"  1  will  try,  my  darjing."  1 

She  put  into  his  hand  l!i';  Lible,  which  she  had 
carefully  marked,  and  w  hich  bore  on  the  blank 
leaf,   in' her   handwriting:    "Colonel    Russell 
Aubrey,  with  th(;  life -long  prayers  of  his  best  ; 
friend."  i 

The   shadow    fled    from   her   countenance,  ; 
which  grew  radiant  as  some  fleecy  vapor  sud-  | 
deiily  sniltlen  with  a  blaze  of  sunlight,  and 
clear  and  sweeter  than  chiming  bells  her  voice  j 
rang  through  the  room. 

"  Thank  (iod  !  lor  that  promise.  J  shall 
lean  my  heart  upon  it  till  the  last  pulsaticns 
*re  stilled  in  my  collin.  And  now  1  will  keep 
you  no  longer  from  your  regiment.  I  know 
that  you  have  many  d'ulies  there  to  claim  your 
time.  Turn  your  face  toward  the  window;  I 
•want  to  look  at,  it,  to  be  able  to  keep  its 
expression  always  befoic  me." 

She  put  up  her  waxen  hand,  brushed  the 
hair  from  his  pale,  dome-like  brow,  and  gazed 
earnestly  at  the  noble  features,  which  even  tiie 
.most  fastidious  could  find  no  cause  to  carp  at. 
"  Of  obi,  when  Euryslhens  threatened 
Athens,  Macaria,  in  ord.r  to  save  the  city  and 
the  land  from  invasion  and  subjugation,  will- 
ingly devoted  herself  a  sacrifice  upon  the  alUr 
of" the  gods.  Ah,  Russell !  that  were  an  easy 
task,  in  comparison  with  the  olU-ring  I  am  called 
upon  to  make.     1  can  not,  like  Macaria,  by 


self-immolation,  redeem  my  country;  from 
that  great  privilege  I  am  debarred;  but  I  yield 
up  more  than  she  ever  pos.-^essed.  1  give  my 
all  on  earth — my  father  and  yourself— to  our 
'  beloved  and  sulTering  country.  My  God  I 
accept  the  sacrifice,  .Mid  crown  the  South  a 
sovereign,  independent  nation  !  (Jladly,  un- 
shrinkingly, would  I  meot  a  <lealh  so  sublime; 
but  to  s<|r\ive  the  loss  of  those  dearer  far  than 
my  life,  to  live  and  endure  such  desolation — 
nh  I  my  lot,  and  that  of  tliou.samls  of  -ny  coun- 
'  try-women,  is  infinitely  more  bitter  than  the 

Idle  of  Macaria  1" 
'       She  smothered  a  moan,  and  her  head  sank 
!  on   his  shoulder;  but  lifting  it  instantly,  with 
j  !ier  fathoudess  allecliou  beaming  in  hor  f»c«, 

she.  .-idded: 

I      "  To  the  mercy  and  guidance  of  Almighty 

(jod  I  commit  you,  dear  Russell — trusting  all 

'  things  in  His  hands.     May  He  shield  you  fron\ 

[  sullei  ing,  strengthen  you  in  the  hour  of  trial. 

'  and  reunite  us  eternally  in    His  kingdom,  is, 

and  ever  shall  be,  my  constant  prayer.     Gocd- 

by,  Russell !     Do  your  duty  nobly;  win  death- 

!  less  glory  on  the  battle-field,  in  (iefcnee  of  our 

'  sacred  cause ;  and  remember  that  your  laurels 

will  be  very  precious  to  my  lonely  heart." 

'  .    He  folded  her  in  his  arms,  and  ki.ssed  her 

!  repeatedly;  but,  disengaging  herself,  she  put 

him  gently  aside;  and,  snatching  up  his  hat,  he 

'•  left  'the  room.     He  reache<l   \m  horse,   then 

j  paused,  and  returned  to  the  parlor. 

'       The  sun  had  set,  but.  waves  of  rich  orange 

!  light  rolled  through  the   window,   and   broke 

;  over    the    white    figure    kneeling    there,  half- 

I  veiled   by    curling    hair.     The   cliu,ped   hand* 

were  uprii'te<l,and  the  colorless  face  was  thrown 

back  in  silent  sU|)plication.     He  watch(.ul  the 

wonderful  loveliness  of  tace  and  form,  till  hi« 

pride  was  utterly  melted;  and,  sinking  on  hi» 

'  knees,  he  threw  one  arm  around   her    waist, 

exclaiming  : 
'      "Oh,  Irene!   you  have  conquered!     With 
God's  grace  1  will  so  spend  the  residue  of  my 
life  as'^to  merit  your  love,  and   the   hope  of 
reunion  beyond  the  grave." 

She  laid  her  iiand  lightly  on  his  bowed  head 
as  he  knelt  beside  her,  and,  in  a  voii;e  that 
knew  no  faltering,  breathed  out  a  teiveut 
prayer,  full  of  pathos  and  sublime  in  faith— 
invoking  blessings  upon  him— life-long  guar- 
dianship, and  final  salvation  through  Christ- 
The  jMdtition  ended,  she  rose,  smiling  through 
i  the  mist  that  gathered  over  her  eyes,  and  be 

said :  j         %  •  i  r  c    t 

"  1  came  back  to  ask  something  which  1  feel 

'  that  you  will  not  refuse  me.     Eleclra  will  prob- 

1  ably  soon  come  home,  and  she  may  be  left  alone 

in  the  world.     Will  you  sometimes  go  to  her 
'  for  my  sake,  and  give  her  your  friendship." 
'      "  I  will,  Russell,  for  her  sake,  as  well  as  for 
\  yours.     She  shall  be  the  only  sister  I  have  ever 

known,'  , 

She  drew  his  hand  to  her  lips,  but  he  caught 
!  it  away,  and  pressed  a  last  kiss  upon  them. 


MAC  ARIA. 


14,7 


"  Good-by,  my  own  darling  !  my  I'lfe-angel !"  ! 

She  heard  liis  step  across  the  hall ;  a  inoiuent  ■ 
after,  the  tramp  of  his  horse,  as  he  galloped 
[lown  the  avenue,  and  .she  knew  that  the  one 
happy  hour  of  lier  life  had  passed — that  the  '■ 
rent  sepulchre  of  silence  must  be  resealed.        I 

Pressing  her  hands  over  her  desolate  heart, 
she  murnmred,  sadly  :  i 

"  Thy  will,  not  mine,  oh.  Father !    Give  me  ' 
Btrongth  to  do  my  work  ;  enable  me  to  be  faith 
ful  even  to  the-  bitter  end." 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

Strange  heroie  parallelisms  startle  the  grave, 
reflecting  student  of  history,  and  propound  the 
inquiry  :  Is  the  Buckle  theory  of  immutable 
cycles  correct  ?  Is  the  throbbing,  surging 
world  of  human  emotions  and  passions  but.  a 
mere  arithmetical  problem,  to  be  solved  through 
the  erudition  and  astuteness  of  a  Quetelet  or 
Hassel,  by  an  iniallible  statistical  rule -of - 
three  ?  lias  the  relentless  Necessity  of  Comte 
erected  its  huge  mill  on  this  continent,  to 
grimly  grind  out  the  annual  ijuantity  of  patriot- 
ism, tyranny,  noble  seli-abnegation,  or  Mach- 
iavelism,  in  the  prescribed,  invariable  ratio  of 
"  Sociology  V"  is  it  that  times  make  men  and 
women,  through  dire  necessity  of  individual 
or  national  salvation,  or  will  it  be  urged  that 
Bublnue  records  of  the  past  fire  the  soul  to 
emulation  and  duplication  of  ancient  heroism? 
JJuvus  sum  nan  (Edipus.  In  17t*l,  when  com- 
pelled to  raise  the  siege  of  Ninety  -  Six,  it 
became  very  important  that  General  Greene 
ehould  conmiunicaie  with  Sumter.  The  inter- 
vening country  was,  however,  so  filled  with 
British  and  Tories,  and  such  dangers  attended 
tiie  mission,  that  no  one  could  be  found  willing 
to  undertake  it.  In  this  emergency,  when  even 
our  patriots  of  the  first  Revolution  shrank  back, 
Ennly  Geiger,  only  eighteen  years  of  age,  vol- 
unteered to  make  the  liazardous  attempt/,  and 
receive<l  from  G««eral  Greene  a  letter,  and 
verbal  me^sagcs,  which  he  was  extremely  de- 
eiroiis  should  reach  their  destination.  Mount- 
ing a  switl  horse,  she  pertormed  a  portion  of 
the  journey  in  safety ;  but  was  ultimately 
arrested  by  two  Tories,  who  suspected  that  she 
might  be  rendering  important,  though  elan- 
destine,  service  to  "the  rebels."  Swiftly  aitd 
unoiiserved  she  swallowed  the  written  despatch, 
and,  baffled  in  their  expectation  of  finding  sus- 
picious documents,  they  allowed  her  to  proceed. 
Sumt<.r*3  camp  was  salely  reached,  the  mes- 
sages were  delivered,  Geu.  Greene's  army  was 
reinforced,  and  soon  became  .strong  enough  to 
assume  the  otlensive.  Rawdon  was  forced  to 
retreat,  and  Greene  subsequently  met  and 
vaiujuished  the  British  army  at  .^-utaw  Springs. 
Was  not  Emily  Geiger's  slender  womanly  hand 
instrumental  m  preparing  for  that  battle,  the 
results  of  which  freed  the  Carohnas  ? 


In  July,  18G1,  when  the  North,  blinded  by 
avarice  and  hate,  rang  with  the  cry  of  "  On  to 
Richmond,"  our  Confederate  Army  of  the 
Potomac  was  divided  between  Manassa  and 
Winchester,  watching  at  both  points  the  glit- 
tering coils  of  the  Union  boa-constrictor,  which 
writhed  in  its  eiforts  to  crush  the  last  sanctuary 
of  freedom.  The  stringency  evinced  alonjr 
the  Federal  lines  prevented  the  transmissioB 
of  despatches  by  the  Secessionists  of  IMaryland, 
and  for  a  time  Generals  Beauregard  and  John- 
ston were  kept  in  ignorance  of  the  movements 
of  the  enemy.  Patterson  hung  dark  and  low- 
ering around  Winchester,  threatening  daily  | 
descent;  while  the  main  column  of  the  grand 
army  under  McDowell  proceeded  from  W'asb- 
ington,  confident  in  the  expectation  of  over- 
whelming the  small  army  stationed  at  Manassa. 
The  friends  of  liberty  who  were  compelled  t« 
remain  in  the  desecrated  old  capital  appre- 
ciated the  urgent  necessity  of  acquainting 
General  Beauregard  with  the'  designs  of  M«- 
Duwell,  and  the  arch-aj)ostate,  Scott;  but  all 
channels  of  egress  seemed  sealed ;  all  roads 
leading  across  the  Potomac  were  vigilantly 
guarded,  to  keep  the  great  secret  safely  ;  and 
painful  apprehensions  were  indulged  lor  the 
late  of  the  Confederate  army.  But  Ihe  Pro- 
methean spark  of  patriotic  devotion  burned  la 
the  hearts  of  Secession  women;  anil,  resolved  ' 
to  dare  all  things  in  a  cause  so  holy,  a  youajg 
lady  of  VV^asliington,  strong  in  heroic  faith, 
offered  to  encounter  any  perils,  and  pledged 
her  life  to  give  Gen.  Beauregard  the  necessary 
intonnation.  Carefully  concealing  a  letter  in 
the  twist  of  her  luxuriant  hair,  which  would 
escj^pe  detection  even  should  she  be  searched,.__ 
she  disguised  herself  effectually,  and,  under  the 
mask  of  a  market-woman,  drove  a  cart  through 
Washington,  across  the  Potomac,  and  deceived 
the  guard  by  .selling  vegetables  and  milk  as  she 
proceeded.  Once  beyond  Federal  lines,  and 
in  liiendly  neighborhood,  it  was  but  a  few 
minutes  work  to  "off  ye  lendings,"  and  s**- 
cure  a  horse  and  riding-habiu  With  a  courage 
and  rapidity  which  must  ever  command  the 
admiration  of  a  brave  people,  she  rode  at  hard 
gallop  that  burning  July  atlenioon  to  Fairfax 
Court-house,  and  telegraphrd  to  Gen.  Beaure- 
gard, tiien  at  Manassa's  Junction,  the  inteUi- 
gence  she  had  risked  so  much  to  convey. 
Availing  himself  promptly  of  thir  facts,  be 
dashed  tiiem  along  electric  wires  to  Richmond, 
and  to  General  Johnston  ;  anil  thus,  through 
womanly  devotion,  a  timely  junction  of  tbc 
two  armies  was  effected,  ere  McDowell's  ban- 
[  ners  flouted  the  skies  of  Bull  Run. 

Cartliagenian  women  gave  their  black  lockfl 
I  to  sti  ing  their  country's  bows  and  furnish  cord- 
age lor  Its  .shipping  ;  and  tiiu  glossy  tresses  ^f 
an    American    woman    veiled    a    few    mystic 
ciphers  more  potent  in  (ieneral  Beauregard's 
hands  than  Talmudish  Shcmhamphor>uth. 
I       lier   mission    accomplished,   tbe    dauntU»w 
I  courier  turned  her  hone's  bead,  and,  doubtlcas, 


148 


MAC  ARIA. 


ynth  an  exuUin?.  thankful  lu-art  returned  in 
triumph. to  Washinjrton.  Wlu-n  our  nationa 
k-wels  are  made  up,  will  not  a  jirateful  and 
ailmiring  country  sot  her  name  bftween  those 
of  Beauregard  and  Johnston  in  the  revolution- 
wv  diadem,  and  let  the  three  blaze  through 
coraii.fr  a-ef,  bafllinp  the  mlst^s  of  tune— the 
Constellation  of  Mana^sa?  The  artillery  duel  , 
of  the  18th  of  July  ended  disastrously  (or  the 
advanee  guard  of  tl*c  FederaLj— a  temporary 
check  was  given.  ,  i    I 

All   things  SL'emed  in   abeyance;  dun,  sul- | 
phurous  clouds  of  Fmoke  lifu-l  themselves  from 
\  liie  dewy  copse  that  fringed  Bull  Run,  floating  I 
alowly  to  the  distant  purple  crests  of  the  Bhie 
Rid.re,   whi'^h   gazed   solemnly   down  -on    the 
wooded  Coliseum,  where  gladiatorial  host-s  were 
soon  to  pour  out  their  blood  in  the  hideous 
orgies  hold  by  loathsome  Fanaticism— guarded 
B\^Federal  bayonets,  and  canopied  by  the  Stars 
alid   StripeF.      During  the  silent  watches  of 
Saturday  night — 

«  S'owlT  com-js  a  hiiiiBiy  people,  as  a  lion  creopinR  nigbT, 
Gltu'i-fl  ni  '-"0  that  nodii  and  winks  bdiiiul  anlowly-dying 
lire." 


A  pure  Sabbath  morning  kindled  on  the 
distant  hill-tops  wearing  heavenly  credentials 
of  rest  and  6::nctity  on  its  pearly  forehead- 
credentials  which   the   passions  of  mankind 
could  not  pause  to  recognize;   and  with  llie 
eolden   glow  ol'  summer  sunshine   came   the 
U-amp  of  infantry,  the  clatter  of  cavalry,  the  j 
Bullen  growl  of  artillery.     Major  Huntingdon  j 
had  been  temporarily  assij'ned  to  a  regiment  ^ 
of  infantry  after  leaving  Richmond,  and  was  ] 
posted  on'  the  right  of  General  Beauregard's  , 
lines,  commanding   one   of   the    lower   fprds. 
Two  miles  higher  up  the  stream,  in  a  diiterent  j 
brigade,  Colonel  Aubrey's  regiment  guarded  ; 
another  of  tlie  numerous  crossings.     As  the 
day  advanced,  and  the  continual  roar  of  ean- 
xion  toward  Stone- Bridge  and  Siullcy's  Pord  j 
indicated  that  the  demonstrationson  McLean  s,  , 
Blackford'8,  and  aiilchell's  fords   were   mere  ^ 
feinl,s  to  hold  our  right  and  centre,  the  truth  ^ 
flashed  on  General  Beauregard  that  the  main 
column  was  hurled  against  Evans'  little  band 
on  the  extreme  left.     Hour  after  hour  passed, 
and  the  thunder  deepened  on  the  Warrenton 
road;  then.the  (ieneral  learned,  with  unutter- 
ai>'e  cha<yr!n,  that  bis  order  for  an  advance  on 
Centreville    bad   miscarried,  that   a    brilliant 
plan  had  been  frustrated,  and  that  new  com- 
binations and  dispositions  must  now  be  resort- 
ed to      The  regiment  to  which  Major  liunt- 
in-don  was  attached  wa.s  ordered  to  the  support 
of^the  left  wing,  and  reached  the  distant  jjosi- 
tlon  in  an  almost  incredibly  short  time,  while 
t%vo  regimcfnts  of  the  brigade  to  which  Colonel 
■   Aubrey  belonged  were  sent  forward  to  the 
game  point  as  a  reserve. 

Like  incarnations  of  victory,  Beauregard 
Rod  Johnston  swept  to  tlie  front,  where  the 
conflict  was  most  deadly ;  everywhere,  at  sight 
of  them,  our  thin  ranks  dashed  forward,  and 


were  mowed  down  by  the  fire  of  Rickett's  and 
Grilfin's  batteries,  wliich  crowned  the  jiosition 
they  were  so  eager  to  regain.     At   halt'-past 
two  o'clock  the  awful  contest  was  at  its  height; 
the  rattle  of  musketry,  the  ceaseless  whistle  of 
rille-balls,  the  deateiiing  boom  of  artillery,  the 
hurtling  hail   of  shot,  and  exj)losion  of  shell, 
dense  volumes  of  smoke  shrouding  the  com- 
batants, and  clouds  of  dust  boiling  up  on   all 
sides,  l*nt  unutterable  horror  to  a  scene  which, 
I  to   colci,  dispassionate   observers,  might   have 
I  seemed  sublime.     As  the  vastly  superior  num- 
i  bcrs  of  the  Federals  forced  our'stubboni  bands 
I  to  give  back  slowly,  an  order  came  from  Gencr- 
I  al  Beauregard  for  the  right  of  his  line,  except 
I  the  reserves,  to  advance,  and  recover  the  long 
'and   desperately -disputed    plateau.     With    a 
I  shout,  the  shattered  lines  sprang  upon  the  toe 
I  and    forced   them    temporarily   back.     Major 
1  Huntingdon's  hor.se  was  shot  under  him ;  he 
!  disengaged  himself  and  marched  on  foot,  wav- 
I  ing  his  sword  and  littering  words  ol  encour- 
agement.    He  had  j)roceeded  but  a  few  yards 
wTien  a  urape-shot  entered  his  side,  tearing  its 
way  through  his  body,  and  he  fell  where  the 
dead  lay  thickest.     For  a  time  the  enemy  re- 
tired, but  heavy  reinforcements  pressed  in,  and 
they  returned,   reoccupying  the  old  ground. 
Not  a  moment  w;is  to  be  lost;  General  Beaure- 
<ravd  ordered  forward  his  reserves  for  a  second 
elfort,   and,  with   magnificent  eifect,  led   the 
char'Te  in  person,     'llien  Russell  Aubrey  first 
came  actively  upon  the  field.     At  the-word  of 
command  bedashed  forward  with  his  si)!cn(lid 
re"iment,  and,   high    above    all,  towered    liis^ 
po'\verfiil  form,  wit  b  the  long  black   plume  of 
his  hat  drifting  upon  the  wind,  as  he  led  his 
admiring  men. 

As  he  pressed  on,  with  thin  nestnl  dilated, 
and  eyes  thai  burned  like  those  of  a  tiger  seiz- 
I  ing  his  prey,  he  saw,  just  in  his  path,  leaning 
on  his  elbow,  covered  with  blood  and  smeareii 
!  with  dust,  the  crushed,  writhing  Ibrm  of  hi« 
i  bitterest  enemy.     His  horse's  hoofs  were   al- 
'  most  upon  him;  he  reined  him  back  an  instant, 
I  and  glared  down  at  his  old  foe.     It  was  only 
I  Ibr  an  instant;  and  as  Major  Huntingdon  look- 
ed on  the  stalwart  figure  and  at  the  advancing 
regiment,  life -long  hatred  and  jealousy  were 
I  Ibrgotten- patriotism  throttled  all  the  past  in 
I  her^grasp — he  feebly  threw  up  his  !iainl,  cheer- 
I  ed    faintly,  and,  with    his  eyes  on   Russell's, 
I  smiled  gr'imlv,  saying,  with  evident  dilh<ult.y  : 
I      "  Beat  the'm  back,  Aubrey  !    Give  them  the 
bayonet!" 

The  shock  was  awful— beggaring  language. 
■  On,  on,  they  swept,  while  ceaseless  cheers 
mingled  with  the  cannonade;  the  ground  was 
recovered,  to  be  captured  no  more.  The  Fed- 
erals were  driven  back  across  the  turnpike, 
and  now  dark  masses  of  reinforcements  de- 
bouched on  the  plain,  and  inarched  toward  our 
left.  Was  it  Grouchy  or  Blucher  ?  borne 
moments  of  painful  suspense  ensued,  while 
General  Beauregard  strained  his  eyes  to  de- 


MACARIA. 


119 


cipher  the  advancing  banner.  Red  and  white 
and  blue,  certainly;  but  was  it  the  ensign  of 
Despotism  or  of  Liberty  ?  Nearer  and  nearer 
came  the  rushing  column,  and  lo  !  upon  the 
breew?  streamed,  triumphant  as  the  Labarum 
of  Constantine,  tlie  Stars  and  Bars.  Kirl)y 
Smitli  and  Elzey — God  be  praised  !  The  day 
was  won,  and  Victory  nestled  proudly  among 
the  folds  of  our  new-born  banner.  One  more 
•  harge  along  our  whole  line,  and  the  hireling 
hordes  of  oppression  fled,  panic-stricken.  Rus- 
sell iiad  received  a  painful  wound  from  a 
nlinie  ball,  which  entered  his  shoulder  and 
rangt'<l  down  toward  the  elbow,  but  he  main- 
tained his  position,  and  led  his  regiment  a  mile 
in  the  pursuit.  When  it  became  evident  that 
the  retreat  was  a  complete  rout,  he  resigned 
the  command  to  Lieutenant- Colonel  Black- 
well,  and  rode  back  to  the  battle-field.  Hid- 
eous was  the  spectacle  presented — dead  and 
dying,  friend  and  foe,  huddled  in  indiscrimi- 
nate ruin,  weltering  in  blood,  and  shivering  in 
the  agonies  of  dissolution;  blackened  headless 
trunks  and  fragments  of  limbs — ghastly  sights 
and  sounds  of  woe,  filling  the  scene  of  combat. 
Such  were  the  first  fruits  of  the  bigotry  and 
fanatical  hate  of  New  England,  aided  by  the 
unprincipled  demagogism  of  the  West;  such 
were  the  wages  of  Abolitionism,  guided  by 
Lincoln  and  Seward — the  latter-day  Sejanus; 
such  the  results  of  "  higher-law,"  canting,  pu- 
ritanical hypocrisy. 

Picking  his  way  to  avoid  trampling  the 
dead,  Russell  saw  Major  Huntingdon  at  a 
little  distance,  trying  to  drag  himself  toward  a 
neighboring  tree.  The  memory  of  his  injuries 
crowded  up — the  memory  of  all  that  he  had 
endured  and  lost  through  that  man's  preju- 
\  dice — the  sorrow  tjiat  might  have  been  averted 
from  his  blind  mother  —  and  his  vindictive 
spirit  rebelled  at  the  thought  of  rendering  him 
aid.  But  as  he  paused  and  struggled  against 
his  better  nature,  Irene's  holy  face,  as  he  saw 
it  last,  lifted  in  prayer  for  him,  rose,  angel-like, 
above  ail  that  mass  of  death  and  horrors. 
The  sufiierer  was  Irene's  father ;  she  was 
hundreds  of  miles  away  ;  Russell  set  his  lips 
firmly,  and,  riding  up  to  the  ])rostrate  figure, 
dismounted.  E.xhausted  by  his  eflTorts,  Major 
Huntingdon  had  fallen  baik  in  the  dust,  and 
an  expression  of  intolerable  agony  distorted 
his  features  as  Russell  stooped  over  him,  and 
asked,  in  a  voice  meant  to  be  gentle  : 

"  Can  I  do  anything  for  you  V  Could  you 
sit  up,  if  I  placed  you  on  my  horse  V" 

The  wounded  man  s<owled  a.s  he  recognized 
the  voice  and  face,  and  turned  hia  bead  par- 
tially away,  muttering: 

"  What  brought  you  here  ?" 

"  There  has  never  been  any  love  between 
us,  ]\lajor  Huntingdon  ;  but  we  are  fighting  in 
the  same  cause  for  the  first  time  in  our  lives. 
You  are,  barlly  woimded,  ami,  as  a  fcllow- 
soldit  r,  I  should  be  glad  to  relieve  your  suffer- 
ing.s,  if  possible.     Once  more,  for  humanity's 


sake,  I  ask,  can  you  ride  my  horse  to  the  rear, 
if  I  asiiist  you  to  mount  V" 

"  No.  But,  for  God's  sake,  give  me  some 
water  I" 

Russell  knelt,  raised  the  head,  and  unbuck- 
ling his  canteen,  put  it  to  his  lips,  using  his 
own  v/ounded  arm  with  some  difSculty.  HalT 
of  the*  cotitents  was  eagerly  swallowed,  and 
the  remainder  Russell  poured  .slowly  on  the 
gaping  ghastly  wound  in  his  side.  The  proud 
man  eyed  him  steadily  till  the  last  cool  drop 
was  exhausted,  and  said,  sullenly  : 

"  You  owe  me  no  kindness,  Aubrey.  I  hate 
you,  and  you  know  it.  But  you  have  heaped 
coals  of  fire  on  my  iicad.  You  are  more  gener- 
ous than  I  thought  you.  Thank  you,  Aubrey; 
lay  me  under  that  tree  yonder,  and  let  me 
die." 

"  I  will  try  to  find  a  surgeon.  Who  belongs 
to  your  regiment  ?" 

'■  Somebody  whom  I  never  saw  till  last 
week.  I  won't  have  him  hacking  about  me. 
Leave  me  in  peace." 

"  Do  you  know  anything  of  your  servant? 
I  saw  him  as  I  came  on  the  field." 

"  Poor  William  !  he  followed  me  ^o  closely 
that  he  was  shot  through  the  head.  He  is 
lying  three  hundred  yards  to  the  left,  yoiuler. 
Poor  fellow  !   he  was  faithful  to  the  last." 

A  tear  dimmed  the  master's  «agle  eye  as  he 
muLtered,  rather  than  spoke,  these  words. 

"  Then  I  will  find  Dr.  Arnold  at  once,  and 
send  him  to  you." 

It  was  no  easy  matter,  on  that  crowded,  cow- 
fused  Aceldama,  and  the  afternoon  was  well 
nigh  spent  before  Russell,  faint  and  weary, 
descried  Dr.  Arnold  busily  using  his  instru- 
ments in  a  group  of  wounded.  He  rode  up, 
and,  having  procured  a  drink  of  water  and 
refilled  his  canteen,  approached  the  surgeon. 

"  Doctor,  where  is  your  horse  ?  1  want 
you." 

/'Ho,  Cyrus!   bring  him  up.     What  is  the 
matter,  Aubrey  ?     You  are  hurt." 

"  Nothing  gerinu.s,  I  think.  But  Major 
Huntingdon  is  desperately  wounded  —  mor- 
tally, I  am  afraid.  See  what  you  can  do  for 
him.' 

"  You  must  be  mistaken  !  I  have  asked  r»- 
peatcdly  for  Leonard,  and  they  told  me  he 
was  in  hot  pur.'suit,  and  unhurt.  I  hope  to 
heaven  you  are  mistaken  I" 

"  Impossible  ;  I  tell  you  I  litleil  him  out  oFa 
pool  of  his  own  blood.  Come;  I  will  show  yoa 
the  way." 

At  a  hard  gallop  they  cros.^ed  the  interven- 
ing woods,  and  without  difficulty  Russell 
found  the  spot  where  the  mangled  form  lay 
still.  He  had  swooned,  with  his  face  turned 
up  to  the  bky,  and  the  ghastline-ss  of  death 
had  settled  on  his  strongly-marked,  handsome 
features. 

"  (rod  pity  Irene  1"  said  the  doctor,  am  he 
bent  down  and  examined  the  horrid  wound, 
striving  to  press ^the  red  lip.s  together. 


150 


MAC  ARIA. 


The  pain  CJiused  from  handlincr  I'im  rousf'd 
tiie  brave  spirit  to  consciousness,  niid  opening 
liis  eyes,  lie  looked  around  wonderiii^Iy. 

'•  Well,  Hiram  I  it  is  all  over  with  rae,  old 
fellow." 

*'  I  hone  not,  Leon.ird  ;  can't  you  turn  a  lit- 
tle, and  let  me  fei-l  for  the  ball  ?" 

"  It  is  of  no  uje ;  I  am  torn  all  to  jiiecos. 
Take  me  out  of  this  dirt,  on  the  fresh  grass 
•mewhore." 

"  I  must  first  extract  the  ball.  Aubrey,  can 
yoululp  me  raise  liim  a  little  V" 

Admiiiisteiing  .^ome  ciiloroform,  he  .soon 
sacceeded  in  taking  out  the  ball,  and,  with 
Kussell's  assistance,' passed  a  bandage  round 
ifae  body. 

"  There  is  no  chance  for  me,  Hiram  ;  I  know 
that.  I  Ivave  few  minutes  to  live.  Some 
water." 

Russell  put  a  cup  to  his  white  lips,  and  call- 
ing in  the  assistance  of  Cyrus,  who  had  followed 
liis  master,  they  carried  him  several  yards 
farther,  and  made  him  comlbitable,  while  or- 
ders were  dcspatolied  for  an  ambulance. 

"  It.  will  come  afu-r  my  corpse.  Hiram,  sec 
that  I  am  sent  home  at  once.  I  don't  want 
my  bones  mixed  here  witli  other  people's ; 
and  it  will  be  some  comfort  to  Irene  to  know 
Uiat  I  am  buried  in  sight  of  home.  I  could 
aot  rest  in  a  ditcii  here.  I  want  to  bo  laid  in 
uiy  own  vault.     Will  you  see  to  it '/" 

"  Yes." 

"  Hiram,  c;cme  nearer,  where  I  can  see  you 
batter.  Rreak  the  news  gently  to  Irene.  Tell 
Rer  I  did  my  duty;  that  will  be  her  only  com- 
Ibrt,  and  best.  Tell  her  I  lell  in  the  thickest 
of  the  battle,  with  my  face  to  Washington  ; 
that  I  died  gloriously,  as  a  Huntingdon  and  a 
wldier  should.  Tell  her  I  sent  her  my  bless- 
ing, ray  love,  and  a  last  kiss." 

He  [)aused,  and  tears  glided  over  his  wan 
cheeks  as  the  picture  of  his  far-off  home  rose 
tamptingly  belbre  him. 

"  She  is  a  brave  child;  she  will  bear  it,  for 
the  sake  of  the  cause  I  died  in.  Take  care  of 
Ler,  Arnold;  tell  Eric  I  leave  her  to  his  guar- 
efiauship.  Harris  ha,s  my  will.  My  jioor  lonely 
child!  it  is  bitter  to  leave  her.  My  Queen! 
my  golden-haired,  bi-.autiful  Irene!" 

He  raised  his  hand  feebly,  and  covered  his 
face. 

"  Don't  let  it  trouble  you,  Leonard.  You 
know  how  I  love  her ;  I  promise  you  I  will 
watch  over  her  as  long  as  1  live." 

"  I  believe  you.  But  if  I  could  see  her  once 
mc^^e,  to  ask  her  not  to  remember  my  harsh- 
ness— long  ago.  You  must  tell  her  for  me ;  she 
will  understand.     Oh  !  1 — ." 

A  horrible  convulsion  seized  him  at  this 
moment,  and  so  intense  was  the  agony  that  a 
groan  burst  through  his  set  teeth,  and  he  strug- 
^ed  to  rise.  Russell  knelt  down  and  rested 
2ie  haughty  head  against  his  shoulder,  wiping 
«ff  the  cold  drops  tl'.at.  beaded  the  pallid  brow. 
After  a  little  while,  lifting  his  eyes  to  the  face 


bending  over  him,  Major  Huntingdon  gazed 
into  the  melancholy  black  eyes,  and  said,  al- 
most in  a  whisper : 

"  I  little  thought  I  should  ever  owe  you 
thanks.  Aubrey,  forgive  me  all  my  hate;  you 
can  afford  to  do  so  now.  I  am  not  a  brute  ;  I 
know  magnanimity  when  I  see  it.  Perhaps  I 
was  wrong  to  visit  Amy's  sins  on  you;  but 
I  could  not  forgive  her.  Aubrey,  it  was  natural 
that  I  should  hate  Amy's  son."  . 

Again  the  spasm  shook  his  lacerated-  frame, 
and  twenty  minutes  al'icr  his  lierce,  relentles* 
spirit  was  released  from  torture;  the  proud, 
ambitious,  dauntless  man  was  with  his  God. 

Dr.  Arnold  closed  the  eyes  with  trembling 
finger.s,  and  covered  his  face  with  his  hands  to 
hide  the  tears  that  he  could  not  repress. 

"  A  braver  man  never  died  tor  freedom.    He 

i  cheered  me  on,  as  my  regiment  charged  over 
the  spot  where  he  lay,"  said  Russell,  looking 
down  at  the  stiffening  form. 

"  He  had  his  faults,  lijce  the  rest  of  us,  and 
his  were  stern  ones;'  but,  for  all  that,  I  was 
attached  to  him.  He  had  some  princely  traits. 
I  would  rather  take  my  place  there  beside  him, 
than  have  to  break  this  to  Iint-ne.  Poor  deso- 
late child  !  what  an  awl'ul  shock  for  her !     She 

,  loves  him  with  a  devotion  which  1  have  rarely 
seen  equalled.  God  only  knows  how  she  wilr 
bear  it.  ll'  I  were  not  so  needed  here,  I  would 
go  to  her  to-morrow." 

•*  Perhaps  you  can  be  spared." 
•'  No ;  it  wouhl  not  be  right  to  leave  so  much 
suffering  behind." 

'  He  turned  to  Cyrus,  and  gave  directnoni 
about  bringing  the  body  into  camp,  to  his  own 
tent;  and  the  two  mounted  and  rode  slowly 

i  back. 

For  some  moments  silence  reigned ;  then 
Dv.  .\rnold  said,  suddenly: 

i      "  I  am  glad  you  were  kind  to  him,  Aubrer. 

j  It  will  be  some  consolation  to  that  purt;  soul  in 

W ,  who  has  mourned  over  and  suHcred 

for  his  violent  animosity.     It  was  very  gener- 

;  ous,  Russell." 

'      "  Save  your  commendation  for  a  better  occa- 

'•  .-ion  ;  I  do  not  merit  ii  now.     I  liad,  and  have, 

,  as  little  magnanimit/  as  my  old  enemy,  and 

j  what  I  did  was  through  no  generous  oblivion 

I  of  the  past." 

I  Glancing  at  him  as  these  words  were  uttered 
glo(jmily,  the  doctor  noticed  his  faint,  wearied 
appearance,  and  led  the  way  to  his  temporary 

I  hospital. 

]  "  Come  in,  and  let  me  see  your  arm.  Tcour 
sleeve  is  full  of  blood." 

An  examination  discovered  a  painful  flesh- 

j  wound — the  minie  ball  having  glanced  from 

j  the  shoulder  and  passed  out  through  the  upper 
part  of  the  arm.    In  removing  the  coat  to  dress 

j  the  wound,  the  doctor  exclaimed  : 

I      "  Here  is  a  bullet-hole  in  the  breast,  which 

I  must  have  just  missed  your  heart!     Was  it  a 

j  spent-ball  V" 

I      A  peculiar  smile  disclosed  Russell's  faultless 


MACARIA. 


151 


teeth  an  instant,  but  he  merely  took  the  coat, 
laid  it  over  his  unitijared  arm,  and  ans\ver«^d  : 

"  Don't  trouble  yourself  about,  spent-bails — 
finish  yotir  job.  I  must  look  after  my  wound- 
ed." "  >  ■* 

As  soon  as  the  bandajes  were  adjusted  he 
walked  away,  and  took  from  the  inside  pocket 
©f  the  coat  a  heavy  t^quarc!  nioroi;co  case  con- 
taining Irene's  ambrotype.  When  the  coat 
was  buttoned,  as  on  that  day,  it  rested  over  his 
heart;  and  during  the  second  desperate  charge 
of  General  Beauregard's  lines  liissell  felt  a 
•ndden  thump,  and.  above  all  the  roar  of  that 
scene  of  carnage,  heard  the  shivering  of  the 
glass  which  covered  tln^  likeness.  Ttie  morocco 
was  torn  and  indented,  but  the  ball  was  turned 
aside  harmless,  and  now,  as  he  touched  the 
spring,  the  fragments  of  glass  fell  at  his  feet. 
It  was  evident  that  his  towering  form  had  ren- 
dered him  a  conspicuous  target ;  some  accurate 
marksman  had  aimed  at  his  heart,  and  the 
ambrotype -case  had  preserved  his  life.  He 
l^ked  at  the  uninjured.  ra(li:int  face  till,  a 
mist  dimmed  his  eyes;  nobler  aspirations,  purer 
aims  possessed  him,  and,  bending  his  knees,  he 
bowed  his  f'oreliead  on  the  case  and  reverently 
thanked  God  for  his  deliverance.  With  a 
countenance  pale  from  physical  suffering,  but 
beaming  with  triumphant  joy  for  the  Nation's 
first  great  viitory,  he  went  out  among  the  dead 
and  dying,  striving  to  relieve  the  wounded,  and 
to  find  tiie  members  of  his  own  command. 
Passing  from  group  to  group,  he  heard  a  feeble, 
fluttering  voice  pronounce  his  name,  and  saw 
one  of  his  men  sitting  against  a  tree,  mortally 
wounded  bv  a  fra<j;raent  of  shell. 

«'  Well,  Colonel,  I  followed  that  black  feather 
of  yours  as  long  as  I  could.  1  am  glad  I  had 
one  good  chance  at  the  cowardly  villains 
before  I  got  hurt.  We  've  thrashed  them 
awfully,  and  I  am  willing  to  die  now." 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  so  badly  hurt.  Cheer 
uj),  Martin  ;  I  will  bring  a  doctor  to  dress  your 
leg,  and  we  will  soon  have  you  on  <  rutches." 

"  No.  Colonel ;  the  doctor  has  seen  it,  and 
sdys  there  is  nothing  to  be  done  for  me.  I 
knew  it  before  ;  everybody  ft-els  when  death 
strikes  them.  Dr.  .\rnold  gave  me  sometking 
that  has  eased  me  of  my  pain,  but  he  can't  save 
me.  Colonel,  they  sa\  my  i:aptain  is  killed ;  and, 
as  I  may  not  see  any  of  our  comp.itiy  boys,  I 
wish  you  would  write  to  my  poor  wife,  and  tell 
her  all  about  it.  I  have  n'l  treated  her  as  well 
as  I  ought ;  but  a  wife  forgivirs  everything,  and 
ihe  will  grieve  for  me,  though  I  did  act  like  a 
brute  whiMi  I  was  drinking.  She  will  be  proud 
to  know  that  I  fought  well  for  my  country,  and 
died  a  faithful  Confederate  soldier;  and  so  will 
my  boy,  my  Tliilip,  who  wanted  to  come  with 
me.  Tell  Margaret  to  send  him  to  take  my 
place  just  as  soon  as  he  is  old  enough.  The 
boy  will  revenge  me;  he  has  a  noble  spirit. 
And,  Colonel,  be  sure  to  tell  her  to  tel!  .Miss 
Jrene  that  I  kept  my  promise,  to  her — that  1 
have  not  touched  a  drop  of  liquor  since  the  day 


she  talked  to  me  before  T  went  out  to  build 
Mr.  Huntingdon's  gin-house.  God  bless  her 
sweet,  pure  soul !  1  believe  she  saved  nie  from 
a  drunkard's  grave,  to  fill  that  of  a  brave 
soldi(;r.  I  know  she  will  never  let  my  Mar- 
garet suffer,  as  long  as  she  lives." 

"Is  there  anything  else  I  can  do  for  yoa, 
Martin  ?" 

"  Nothing  else,  unless  I  could  get  a  blanket, 
or  something,  to  put  under  my  head.  I  am 
getting  very  weak." 

"  Leavens,  pick  up  one  of  those  knapsacks 
scattered  aiiout,  and  bring  a  blanket.     T  prom- 
ise you,  Martin;  I  will  write  to  your  wife;  and 
when  I  go  home,  if  I  outlive  this  war.  I  will  see 
that  slit!  is  taken  care  of     I  am  sorry  to  lose 
I  you,  my  brave  fellow.     You  were  one  of  the 
'  best  sergeants  in  the  regiment.     But  remem- 
ber  that   you   have   helped    to   win    a   great 
battle,  and  your  countrv  will  not  forget  hor 
,  faithful  sons  who  fell  at  Manassa." 
I      "  Goiid-by,  Colonel ;  I  sliould  like  to  follow 
you  to  Washington.     You  have  been  kind  to 
us  all,  and  I  hope  you  will  be  spared  to  our 
regiment.     God  bless  you.   Colonel   Aubrey, 
wherever  you  go."' 

RiKssell  changed  him  from  his  constrained 
i  posture  to  a  more  comfortable  one,  rested  his 
I  head  on  a  knapsack  and  blaidtet,  jilaced  his 
j  own  citnteen  beside  him,  and,  with  a  long,  hard 
I  gripe  of  hands,  and  faltering  "  God  bless  you!** 
I  the  soldiers  parted.  The  day  of  horrors  was 
'  shuddering  to  its  close;  glazing  ey»>s  were 
I  turned  for  the  last  time  to  the  sun  wliirh  set  in 
j  the  fiery  West;  the  din  and  roar  (^f  the  pursuit 
died  away  in  the  distance  ;  lowering  clouds 
I  draped  the  sky;  the  groans  and  wails  of  the 
!  wounded  rose  mournfully  on  the  reeking  air; 
I  and  night  and  a  drizzling  rain  came  down  on 
!  the  blanched  corpses  on  the  torn,  trampled, 
I  crimson  plain  of  Manassa. 

■■Ih:itc  tlie  (hoai^fiil  hollow  bohuiil  tlm  little  wood. 
j   Its  lips  ill  tho  fipid  aliovp  nve  dablilfil  with  blooil-rerl  hnath, 
I  The  ri'd-iibhcd  liuljtes  drip  with  ii  gileiit  li"iror  of  blood. 

And  Kclio  thoro.  wli.itevcr  is  asked  her.  anitwurs  -DetttU  I'" 

I  But  all  of  intolerable  torture  centred  not  there, 

j  awful    as    was    the   scene.     Throughout    the 

j  length  and  breadth  of  the  Confederacy  tele- 

'  graphic  despatches  tyld   that  the   battle   was 

!  raging;  and  an  army  wf  women  .spent  that  21st 

,  ujion    their   knees,    in    agonizing    prayer   for 

I  husbands   and    sons   who   wrestled    for    their 

j  liirthright  on  the  far-olf  field  of  blood.     (Jray- 

I  haired    pastors    and     curly -headed     tdiildren 

■  alike  besought  the  (Jod  of  Justice  to  ble.ss  the 

Right,  to  deliver  our  gallant  bantl  of  patriots 

from  the  in?olent  hordes  sent  to  destroy  us; 

'  and  to  that  vast  trembling  volume  of  ju'ayer 

which  ascended  from  early  morning  from  the 

altars  of  the   South,   God   lent   his  ear,   and 

answered. 

1      The  p(»ople.  of  W were  subjected  to 

I  painfid  suspense  as  hour  after  hour  crept  by, 
I  and  a  dense  crowd  collected  in  fron:  ot  the 
;  telegraph  office,  whence  floated  an   ominous 


1^2 


MAC  ARIA. 


red   fla{».     Andrew    waited  on   horst-baek  to  [ 
carry  to    Irene    the   latest   intelli|j:encc.   and  ; 
during   the   entire    afternoon   she   paced  the 
coloiinadf,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  tlie  winding 
road.      At    li;iir-|)ast  five  o'clock  tlie   solemn 
stillness  of  the  sultry  day  was  .siuldenly  broken  | 
by  a  will!,  prolonged  siiout   from   the   town  ; 
cheer  after  (iieer  was  canght  up  by  the  hill.s, 
echoed  among  the  purple  vallevs,  and  finally  : 
lost  in  the  roar  of  the  river.     Andrew  gailopi-d 
U])  rtii-   avenue  with  an  extra,  yet  damp  from 
the  printing-press,  containing  the  Joyful  tidings 
that   McDowell's  army   had  been  completely  | 
routed,  and  was  being  pursued   toward  Ale.x-  j 
andria.     Meagre  was  tiu!  account — our  heroes,  | 
Bee  and  Bartow,  had  fallen.     No  other  details  i 
were  given,  but  the  premonition,  "  Heavy  loss 
on  our  side,"  sent  a  thrill  of  horror  to  every  j 
womanly  heart,  dreading  to  learn  the  price  of  i 
victory.     Irene's  white  face  flashed  as  she  read  , 
the  despatch,  and  raising  her  hands,  exclaimed:  ; 
"  Oh,  thank  Clod  !  thank  God  !"  | 

"  Shall  1  go  back  to  the  office  ?"  , 

**  Yes  ;  I  shall  certainly  get  a  despatch  from  ] 
father  sometime  to-night.  Go  back,  and  Wait 
for  it.  Tell  Mr.  Rogers,  the  operator,  wiiat  you  1 
came  for,  and  ask  him  I  say  please  to  let  you  have  i 
it  as  soon  as  it  arrives.  And,  Andrew,  bring  ! 
me  any  other  news  that  may  come  before  my  j 
despatch." 

Te<liously  time  wore  on ;  the  shadows  on  the 
lawn  and  terrace  grew  long(;r  and  thinner; 
the  birds  deserted  the  hedges ;  the  pigeons 
forsook  the  colonnade  and  steps  ;  Paragon, 
tired  of  walking  alter  Irene,  fell  asleep  on  the 
rug  ;  and  the  slow,  drowsy  tinkle  of  cow-bells 
died  away  among  the  hills. 

Far  ofi"  to  tlie  east  the  blue  was  hidden  by 
gray  thunderous  masses  of  rain -cloud,  now 
and  then  veined  by  li^ditning ;  and  as  Irene 
watched  their  jagged,  gi'ote.sque  outlines,  they 
took  the  form  of  battling  hosts.  Cavalry 
Bwept  down  on  the  fiaidcs,  huge  forms  heaved 
along  the  centre,  and  the  lurid  furrows  y^lough- 
ing  the  whole  from  time  to  time,  seemed  Indeed 
death-dealing  flashes  of  artillery.  She  recalled 
the  phantom  cloud-battle  in  tin;  Netherlandisly 
vision,  and  shuddered  involuntarily  as,  in  im- 
agination, she 

•"  Ileaiil  tlic  licavens  fill  witli  slioutiiig,  and  there  rained  a 

glia.itly  (lew 
Prom  tlienatiout!  airy  navies  grappling  in  the  central  blue." 

Gradually  the  distant  storm  drifted  southward, 
the  retreat  passed  the  horizon,  a  red  sunset 
faded  in  the  west;  rose  and  amber  and  orange 
were  quenched,  and  sober  blue,  with  starry 
lights,  was  over  all.  How  the  serene  regal 
beauty  of  that  summer  night  mocked  the 
tumultuous  throbbing,  the  wild  jov,  and 
great  exultation  of  the  national  heart!  Mother 
Earth  industriously'  weaves  and  hangs  about 
the  world  her  radiant  lovely  tapestries,  pitiless 
of  man's  wails  and  requiems,  <leaf  to  his  paans. 
Irene  had  earnestly  endeavored  to  commit  her 


father  and  Russell  to  the  merciful  care  and 
protection  of  God,  and  to  rest  in  faith,  ban- 
ishing apprehension  ;  but  a  horrible  presenti- 
ment, whirh  would  not  "down"  at  her  bidding, 
kept  her  nerves  strung  to  their  utmost  tension. 
As  the  night  advaneetl,  her  face  grew  haggard 
and  the  wan  lips  fluttered  ceaselessly.  Rus- 
sell she  regardeii  as  already  dead  to  her  in  this 
world,  but  for  her  father  she  wre.stled  des- 
perately in  sj)irit.  Mrs.  Campbell  joined  her, 
uttering  ho[ieful.  encouraging  words,  and 
Nellie  came  out,  with  a  cup  of  tea  on  a  waiter. 

"  Plea.sc  drink  your  tea,  just  to  plca.se  me. 
Queen.  I  can't  bear  to  look  at  you.  In  all 
your  life  I  never  saw  you  worry  so.  Do  sit 
down  and  rest ;  you  have  walked  fifty  miles 
since  morning." 

"  Take  it  away,  Nellie.     I  don't  want  it." 

"  But,  child,  it  will  be  time  enough  to  fret 
when  you  know  Mas'  Leonard  is  hurt.  Don't 
run  to  meet  trouble ;  it  will  face  you  soon 
enough.  If  you  won't  take  the  tea,  for  pity's 
sake  let  me  get  you  a  ghxss  of  wine.'  ^ 

"  No ;  I  tell  you  I  can't  swallow  anything. 
If  you  want  to  help  me,  pray  for  father." 

She  resumed  her  walk,  with  her  eyes  strain- 
ed in  the  direction  of  the  town. 

Thus  pa.ssed  thiee  more  miserable  hours; 
then  the  clang  of  tln^  iron  gate  at  the  toot  of 
the  avenue  fell  on  her  aching  ear  ;  the  tramp 
of  horses  hoofs  and  roll  of  wheels  came  up 
the  gravelled  walk. 

•'  Bad  news  I  they  are  coming  to  break  it 
to  me  !  "  said  she  hoarsely,  and,  pressing  her 
hands  together,  she  leaned  heavily  against 
one  of  the  guardian  statues  whiidi  had  stood 
so  long  before  the  door,  like  ancient  Herma 
at  Athens.  \Vas  the  image  indeed  [)rescient  ? 
It  tilt.ed  from  its  pedestal,  and  fell  with  a  crash, 
breaking  into  fragments.  The  omen  chilled 
her,  and  she  stood  still,  with  the  light  from 
the  hall -lamp  streaming  over  her.  The  car- 
riag<'  stoppiid;  Judge  Harris  and  his  wife  came 
up  the  steps,  followed  slowly  by  Andrew, 
who.se  hat  was  slouched  over  his  eyes.  As 
they  approached,  Irene  put  out  her  hand* 
wisliuUy. 

.  "iVe  have  won  a  glorious  victory,  Irene, 
but  many  of  our  noble  soldiers  are  wound- 
ed. 1  knew  you  would  be  anxious,  and  w« 
came — ." 

"  Is  my  father  killed  '?" 

"  Your  father  was  wounded.  He  led  a 
spleniiid  charge." 

"Wounded!  No  1  he  is  killed!  Andrew, 
tell  me  the  truth — is  father  dead  ?" 

The  faithful  negro  could  no  longer  repress 
his  grief,  and  sobbed  convulsively,  unable  to 
reply. 

"  Oh,  my  God!  I  knew  it!  I  knew  it!"  she 
gasped. 

The  gleaming  arms  were  thrown  up  de- 
spairingly, and  a  low,  dreary  cry  wailed 
tliroujih  the  stately  old  man.sion  as  the  or- 
phan turned  her  eyes  upon  Nellie  and  Au- 


MACARIA. 


153 


drew — the  devoted  two  who  had  petted  her 
from  chililhood. 

Judge  Harris  led  lier  into  the  library,  and 
his  weeping  wife  endeavored  to  ofTer  consola- 
tion, but  she  stood  rigid  and  tearless,  holding 
out  her  liand  for  the  despatch.  Finally  they 
gave  it  to  her,  and  she  read  : 

"Charles  T.  Harris: 

"  Huntingdon  was  desperately  wounded  at 
three  o'clock  to-day,  in  making  a  charge.  He 
died   two  hours  ago.     I  was  with   him.     The 

body  leaves  to-morrow  for  W .- 

"Hiram  Arnold." 

The  paper  fell  from  her  fingers;  with  a  dry 
sob  she  turned  from  them,  and  threw  herself 
on  the  sotii,  witli  her  face  of  woe  to  the  wall. 
So  passed  the  night. 

Four  days  after,  a  number  of  Major  Hunt- 
ingdon's friends  waited  at  the  depot  to  receive 
the  body.  The  train  had  been  detained;  it 
was  nine  o'clock  at  night  when  the  cars  arriv- 
ed, and  the  coflin  was  placed  in  a  hearse  and 
e.-^corted  to  the  Hill.  By  Judge  Harris'  direc- 
tion it  was  carried  into  the  parlor,  and  placed 
on  the  table  draped  for  the  purpose;  and  when 
arrangements  had  been  made  for  the  funeral 
on  the  morrow,  lie  dismissed  all  but  a  few  who 
were  to  remain  during  the  night. 

Irene  sat  at  her  window  up-stairs,  looking 
©ut  upon  the  sombre  soughing  pines  that  rose 
like  a  cloud  against  the  starry  sky,  while  Grace 
and  Salome  walked  about  the  room,  crying 
spasmodically,  and  trying  to  utter  something 
comforting  to  the  still  figure,  which  might 
have  been  of  ivory  or  granite,  for  any  visible 
sign  of  animation.  After  a  time,  wlien  the 
bustle .  had  ceased,  when  the  carriages  had 
withdrawn,  and  the  hurried  tread  of  many 
feet  had  subsided,  Irene  rose,  and  said  : 

"  Grace,  tell  your  father  I  wish  to  see  him." 

Judge  Harris  came  promptly. 

"I  am  greatly  obliged  to  you  for  all  your 
kindness.  Please  take  tlie  gentlemen  into  the 
dining-room  or  library,  if  you  will  stay,  and  do 
not  allow  any  of  them  to  return  to  the  parlor; 
I  shall  sit  there  to-night,  and  need  uo  one." 

"  Oh,  my  child  !  impossible.  "  It  would  not 
be  proper.     You  are  not  able."' 

"I  know  what  I  am  able  to  do,  and  what  I 
have  resolved  to  do.  Be  good  enough  to  re- 
move those  gentlemen  at  once." 

Something  in  her  face  startled  him;  perhajis 
its  frightful,  tearless  immobility,  and  lie  silently 
complied. 

When  all  was  quiet,  she  crossed  the  passage, 
entered  the  dra|)cd  room,  and,  locking  the 
door,  was  alone  with  her  dead.  The  coffin 
Rtood  in  the  centre  of  the  floor,  and  upon  it 
lay  tlu»  sword  and  plumed  hat.  She  looked 
down  on  the  lid  when-  the  name  was  inscribed, 
an<l  kissed  the  cimracters;  ami,  as  all  her  iso- 
lation and  orphanage  rushed  upon  her,  she 


laid  her  head  on  the  table,  calling  mournfully 
upon  the  manly  sleeper  for  comfort  and  for- 
giveness. 

When  morning  broke  fully.  Judge  Harris 
knocked  softly  at  the  door.  No  answer.  Ha 
rapped  loudly,  trying  the  bolt.  All  within  wa« 
silent  as  the  grave.  He  hurried  round  to  lh« 
green -house,  threw  up  the  sash,  pushe<l  open 
the  door,  and  entered,  full  of  undcfinable  alarm. 
The  wax  candles  on  the  table  and  mantlt* 
had  just  expired  ;  the  smoke  from  one  was  still 
creeping,  thread-like,  to  the  ceiling.  A  whit^ 
form  knelt  on  the  fjoor,  with  clasped  hands 
and  bowed  head,  resting  against  the  coflin. 

"  Irene  '    Irene  !" 

She  did  not  stir. 

He  looped  back  the  curtains  to  admit  tha 
light,  and  bending  down,  lifted  the  head. 
The  face  was  chill  and  colorless  as  death,  the 
eyes  were  closed,  and  a  slender  stream  of 
blood  oozed  slowly  over  the  lips,  and  dripped 
upon  the  linen  shroudings  of  the  table.  Sh(* 
had  fainted  from  the  hemorrhage,  and,  taking 
her  in  his  arms,  hfe  carried  her  up  to  her  owu 
room. 


CHAPTER  XXX€. 

"  I  i'.tend  to  trust  you  with  important  de- 
spatches. Miss  Grey  —  for  I  have  great  confi- 
dence in  female  ingenuity,  as  well  as  fcm:\lc  he- 
roism. The  meekest  of  you  women  are  miniature 
Granvelles;  nature  made  you  a  race  of  schem- 
ers. Pardon  me  if  I  ask,  how  you  propose 
to  conceal  the  despatches  ?  It  is  no  easy 
matter  now  to  run  the  blockade  of  a  Southern 
port,  especially  on  the  Gulf;  and  yon  must 
guard  against  being  picked  up  by  the  Philis- 
tines." 

"  I  am  fully  aware  of  all  the  risk  attending 
my  trip  ;  but  if  you  witt  give  me  the  papers, 
prepared  as  I  directed  in  my  note  from  Paris, 
I  will  pledge  my  life  that  they  shall  reach 
Richmond  safely.  If  I  am  captured  and  car- 
ried North,  I  have  friends  who  will  assist  mo 
in  procuring  a  passport  to  the  South,  and 
little  delay  will  occur.  If  I  am  searched,  I 
can  bid  them  defiance.  Give  me  the  de- 
spatches, and  I  will  show  you  how  I  intend  to 
take  them." 

Electra  opened  her  trunk,  took  out  a  largo 
port-tblio,  and  .selected  from  the  drawings  on« 
in  ci5iyons  representing  the  heads  of  Michael 
Angelo's  Fates.  Spreading  it  out.  face  down- 
ward, on  the  table,  she  laid  the  closdy-writteo 
tissue  paper  of  despatches  smoothly  on  th« 
back  of  the  thin  pasfeboard  ;  then  fitted  a 
square  piece  of  oil-silk  on  the  tissue  missive, 
an<l  having,  with  a  small  brush,  coated  the 
silk  with  paste,  covered  the  whole  with  a  piece 
of  thick  drawing-paper,  the  edges  of  which 
were  carefully  glue«l  to  those  of  the  paste- 
board. Taking  a  hot  iron  from  the  grate,  sho 
passed  it  repeatedly  over  the   paper,  till  all 


154 


MACARIA. 


was  §mooth  ami  'Irv  ;  then  in  fhfi  centre  wrote, 
witli  a  ptMH-il :  ••  Mic-h.-icl  Ansdo's  Fafe^,  \n  the 
Pit'i  PiiUiM'.  Co|>i.-(l  May  8th,  I80I."  From 
%  list  offi^iuros  ill  a  small  note-book  she  added 
the  iliinen«ioiis  of  t  lie  picture,  and,  underneath 
a11,  .1  line  from  lOiiripides. 

ll«'r  cy.'S  s|iatklfd  as  she  bi'nt  over  her 
work,  and  at  li-iiirth,  liftinir  it  for  inspection, 
$ht'  exilaimt'd.  tritimphantly  :  • 

"  Tlii-ri',  sir  !  I  can  bafHt;  even  the  Paris 
(it'tcciivf.  niMiii  less  the  lynx-eyed  emissaries 
of  Lin -oln,  S  w  ird,  &  Co.  Are  yon  satisGed  V 
Ex.imini-  it  with  your  own  hands." 

'■  Perfectly  sati^fied,  my  dear  youni»  lady. 
But  snp[iose  they  should  seize  your  trunk  ? 
Confix -aiiaM  i>  the  cry  all  over  the  North." 

"Finding  no:hin;j  suspiciou-i  or  'contra- 
band '  about  mc,  e.xcept  my  Southern  birth 
and  symj)Hthi>'s,  they  would  scarcely  take  pos- 
•PssioM  of  tiie  nceisary  tools  of  my  profession. 
I  have  no  U-at,  sir;  the  paper  is  fated  to  i^ach 
its  d''stinatioii." 

'•  Arc  your  other  despatches  sealed  up  pic- 
V-orialiy  ?"     • 

Hhc  lau;;h('d  heartily. 

"Of  cour.se  not.  We  women  are  too 
•hrewd  to  hazard  all  upon  one  die." 

••  Well — well  I  You  see  that  we  trust  impor- 
tant data  to  your  ciiuninjr  finders.  You  leave 
London  to-morrow  for  Sout.hampton :  will 
asVivc  ju-t  in  time  for  the  steamer.  Good-by, 
Miss  Grey..  •Wlieii  I  fret  back  to  the  Confcd- 
enicy  I  shall  certainly  find  you  out.  I  want 
you  to  paint  the  portraits  of  my  wife  and  chil- 
dren. From  the  enviable  reputation  you  have 
already  acipiired,  I  am  proud  to  claim  you  for 
my  country-woman.  God  bless  you,  and  lead 
you  safely  home.  Good-by,  Mr.  Mitchell. 
Take  care  of  her,  and  let  me  hear  from  you  on 
yo<ir  arrival.' 

From  the  hour  when  tidinnrs  of  the  fall  of 
Sumter  reached  Eurc/^e,  Electra  had  resolved 
to  cut  short  the  studies  which  she  had  pursued 
•0  vif^orously  since  her  removal  to  Florence, 
and  return  to  tlic  South.  But  the  tide  of 
travel  set  toward,  not  from,  European  shores, 
and  it  was  not  until  after  repeated  attempts 
to  find  some  one  homeward-bound,,  that  she 
learned  of  Eric  Mitcliell's  presence  in  Paris, 

•nd  his  intention  ol  soon  returning  to  W . 

She  wrote  at  once,  requesting  his  permission 
to  place  herself  uinler  his  care.  It  was  cordi- 
ally accorded  ;  and,  bidding  adieu  to  Italy,  she 
joined  him  without  delay,  despite  the  plead- 
ings of  Mr.,  Mrs.  Young,  and  Jjouisa,  who  had 
recently  arrived  at  Florence,  and  sincerely 
mourned  a  separation  under  such  painful  cir- 
e^lmstance8. 

Erie  was  detained  in  Paris'  by  a  severe 
atta'dc  of  the  old  disease,  but  finally  reached 
London  —  whence,  having  compkited  their 
arrangements,  they  set  olf  for  Southampton, 
and  took  passage  in  the  Trent,  which  was 
destined  sulisequenlly  to  play  a  prominent 
part  in  the  taugled  rule  of  Diplomacy,  and  to 


furnish  the  most  utterly  humiliating  of  many 
chapters  of  the  pusillanimity,  sycophancy,  and 
degradation  of  the  Federal  government. 

The  voyage  proved  plo.isawt  and  prosperous; 
and,  once  at  Havana,  Eric  anxiously  sought 
an  opportunity  of  testing  thi!  vaunted 
efhcicncy  of  the  blockade.  Unfortunately, 
two  steamers  had  started  the- week  previous, 
one  to  New  Orleans,  the  other  to  Charleston  ; 
only  sailing  vessels  were  to  be  found,  and 
about  the  movements  of  these  impenetrabU 
mystery  seemed  wrapped.  On  the  afternoon 
of  the  third  day  after  their  arrival,  Eric, 
wearied  with  the  morning's  (Vuilless  inquiry, 
was  resting  on  the  sofa  at  t!ie  hotel,  whIU 
El  >ctra  watched  the  tide  of  passers-by,  when 
Willis,  Eric's  servant,  came  In  quickly,  and 
walked  up  to  the  sofa. 

"  Master,  Captain  Wright  is  here.  I  asked 
him  to  come  and  see  you,  and  he  is  waiting 
down  stairs." 

"  Captain  Wright  ?" 

*•  Yes,  sir  ;  the  captain  you  liked  so  much  at 
Smyrna — the  one  who  gave  you  that  pipe,  sir." 

"Oil,  I  remember !  Yes — yes;  ami  he  is  here? 
Well,  show  him  up." 

"  Master,  from  the  way  he  watches  th« 
clouds,  I  believe  he  is  about  to  run  out. 
Maybe  he  can  take  us  ?" 

'*  Willis  is  invaluable  to  you,  Mr.  Mitchell," 
said  Electra,  as  the  negro  left  the  room. 

"  Me  is,  indeed.  He  is  eyes,  ears,  crutches, 
everything  to  mo,  ami  never  forgets  anything 
or  anybody.  He  has  travclleil  over  half  the 
world  with  me, — could  desert  me,  and  be  fre« 
at  any  moment  he  felt  inclined  to  do  so — but 
is  as  f  lithful  now  as  the  day  on  which  I  firat 
left  home  with  him." 

"Ah,  Captain  !  this  is  an  unexpected  pleas* 
ure.  I  am  lieartily  slad  to  see  you.  Miss 
Grey — Captain  Wright.     Take  a  ^eat." 

The  ca])tain  looked  about  thirty,  possibly 
older;  wore  a  gray  suit  and  broad  straw  hat, 
and,  when  the  latter  was  tossed  on  the  floor, 
.showed  a  handsome,  frank,  beaming  face,  with 
large,  clear,  smiling  blue  eyes,  whose  steady 
light  nothing  human  coulil  dim.^  His  glossy 
reddish-brawn  hair  was  thrust  back  from  a 
fbrtdiead  vdiite  and  smooth  as  a  woman's,  but 
tlnrlower  portion  of  the  face  was  efTectually 
bronzed  by  exposure  to  the  vicissitudes  of 
climate  and  weather;  and  Electra  noticed  a 
peculiar  nervous  restlessness  of  manner,  as 
though  he  were  habitually  on  the  watch. 

"  I  am  astonished  to  see  you  in  Havana, 
Mitchell.     Wh(-re  did  you  come  from  ?" 

"Just  from  Paris,  where  bad  health  drov« 
me,  after  I  bade  you  good-by  at  Smyrna. 
What  are  you  doing  here?" 

"  I  suppose  you  have  heard  of  our  great 
victory  at  Manassa?" 

"  Yes,  and  am  rejoiced  beyond  all  ex- 
pression, but  feel  anxious  to  see  a  full  list 
of  our  loss.  I  had  a  brother  -  in  -  law  in  that 
ensra^fement." 


MACARIA. 


155 


"  His  name?" 

*'  Huntingflon  —  Major  Huntington,  of 
W ,  in ." 

"  I  have  seen  no  mention  of  his  name  in  the 
papers,  but  our  loss  in  olTniers  was  very  heavy. 
We  can  ill  afford  to  spare  Bee,  Bartow,  and 
Fisher  ;  and  I  want  the  war  carried  on  till 
we  burn  every  public  buildin;;  in  Washington, 
and  raise  a  monument  to  our  dead  on  the  site 
of  the  Capitol.  We  owe  this  debt,  and  we 
must  pay  it." 

*'  Have  you  a  vessel  here,  Captain  ?" 

"  Of  course  I  have !  Don't  you  suppose 
that  I  would  b(nn  the  army  if  I  could  not  serve 
my  country  better  by  carryinir  in  arms  and 
ammunition  ?  I  have  already  made  two  suc- 
oessful  trips  with  my  schooiier — ran  in,  despite 
the  blockatlers.  I  am  negotiatinij  for  a  stcam- 
ar,  but  until  I  can  get  one  ready  I  intend  to 
•ail  on." 

"  When  did  you  arrive  here  last?" 

"  About  ten  days  ago.  They  chased  me  for 
nearly  fifteen  miles,  but  I  stole  out  of  sight  be- 
fore morning." 

"  When  do  \  ou  expect  to  leave  here  ?" 

The  captain  darted  a  swift,  searching  glance 
at  Electra,  rose,  and  closed  the  door,  saying, 
with  a  light  laugh  : 

"  Take  care,  man !  You  are  not  exactly 
aeer-lmnting  or  crab-catching  in  a  free 
•  ■ountry  !  Mind  that,  and  talk  softly.  I  am 
watched  here  ;•  the  Federal  agents  all  know 
me,  and  there  are  several  Federal  vessels 
in  port.  When  do  I  expect  to  leave  ?  Well, 
to-night,  if  the  weather  thickens  up,  as  T  think 
it  will,  and  there  is  evident  sign  of  a  storm. 
Most  sailors  wait  for  fair  weather ;  we  block- 
»de-runners  for  foul." 

"  Oh,  Captain  !  do  take  us  with  you  ?"  said 
Electra,  eagerly. 

•'  What !  In  a  rickety  schooner,  in  the  teeth 
of  a  gale  ?  Besides,  Miss,  I  am  taking  a  cargo 
of  powder  this  trip,  and  if  I  am  hard  pressed 
I  shall  blow  up  vessel  and  all,  rather  than 
Buffer  it  to  fall  into  Yankee  clutches.  You 
would  not  relish  going  up  to  heaven  after  the 
fashion  of^Bocket,  would  you  ?" 

"  I  amfl^illing,  sir,  to  risk  everything  you 
threatep^ather  than  wait  here  indefinitely." 

"  Calrt  you  take  u.s,  Wright — Miss  Grey, 
Willis,  and  myself?  We  are  very  impatient  to 
get  ?K>me." 

"  But  I  have  no  accommodations  for  passen- 
gers. I  should  be  ashamed  to  ask  Miss  Grey 
aboanl  my  little  egg-shell — everything  is  so 
.mall  and  comfortless.  I  have  not  lost  all  my 
politeness  and  chivalry,  if  I  am  a  rough-looking 
Confeilerate  .sailor.  I  assure  you  I  have  every 
disposition  to  oblige  you,  but  really  it  would 
not  be  right  to  subject  a  lady  to  such  a  trip  as 
I  may  have  before  me." 

''  But,  CajJtain,  if,  with  all  these  facts  star- 
ing m<'  iu  the  face,  I  appeal  to  your  chivalry, 
»nd  beg  you  to  allow  me  to  undergo  the  hard- 
•hips  incident  to  the  trip,  in  preference  to  un- 


certain delay  here.  If  I  prefer  to  vnn  the 
gantlet  in  your  schooner,  you  surely  will  not  re- 
fuse me  ?"  « 

"  Really,  Miss,  T  don't  know  what  to  ^ay. 
I  thought  I  would  frighten  you  out  of  the  no- 
tion— for, to  tell  you  the  truth,!  am  alway>  so 
much  more  an.xious  when  I  have  ladii's'  live* 
in  my  hands.  I  pledge  you  my  word  1  \\oidd 
sooner  run  afoul  of  a  Federal  frigate  than  seo 
you  sutTer  for  want  of  anything.  I  can't  even 
set  a  table  half  the  time." 

"But  I  suppose,  sir,  we  could  contrive  to 
live  a  few  days  without  eating  at  a  regular  ta- 
ble. I  will  take  some  cheese  rAd  crackers 
and  fruit  along  in  a  basket,  if  that  will  casw 
your  mind.  Do  waivoyour  .scruples,  and  'on- 
sent  to  take  cliarge  of  us." 

"  I  add  ray  ])rayers  to  hers.  Writrht,  do 
take  us.  We  shall  not  mind  nrivation-t  or 
inconvenience. 

"Well,  then,  .understan<l  distinctly  that,  if 
anything  happens,  _vou  are  not  to  blame  me. 
If  the  young  lady  gets  sea-sick,  or  fi-ccklcd,  or' 
suu-burnt,  or  starved  to  death,  or  blown  uji.  or 
drowned,  or,  worse  than  all,  if  the  Yankee 
thie\es  by  the  way-side  take  her  as  a  prize, 
it  will  be  no  fault  of  miuv*.  whatever,  an<l  I  tell 
you  now  I  shall  not  lay  it  on  my  conscience." 

"  'Raw-head  and  bloody  bones'  never  friLrht- 
ened  me,  even  when  I  was  a  little  child,  sir :  so 
you  may  recon(;ile  yourself  to  the  prospect  of 
having  us  as  compnqnnns  ile  ooijfirfe." 

"Suppose  a  small  hand-to-hand  fight  forms 
a  part  of  the  programme  ?" 

"  In  that  case,  I  have  a  splendid  brace  of  pis- 
tols, which  were  given  to  me  before  I  lefk 
Europe." 

"  Do  you  know  how  to  handle  them  ?" 

"  Moderately  well.  I  will  practice  as  wc  go 
along,  by  making  a  target  of  one  of  your  small 
ropes." 

"  I  see  you  are  incorrigible  ;  and  I  suppose  I 
must  let  you  go  with  me,  hongrc  mnlffre." 

"  Bnnrfrc  let  it  be,  by  all  means.  I  am  in- 
expressibly impatient  to  get  home." 

"  Wright,  to  what  port  are  you  bound  ?" 

"  Ah  !  that  is  more  than  I  can  tell  you.  The 
winds  must  decide  it.  I  can't  try  the  Caroli- 
na* again  this  trip;  they  are  watching  for  me 
too  cdosely  there.  New  Orleans  is  ralhi'r  a 
longer  run  than  I  care  io  make,  and  I  shall 
keep  my  eyes  on  .\])alachicola  ami  Atobile." 

"  What  object  have  you  in  starting  to-night;, 
particularly  in  the  face  of  a  gale?" 

Again  the  captain's  eye  swept  roun<l  the 
room,  to  guard  against  any  doors  that  mighl 
be  ajar.  > 

"  As  I  told  you  before,  I  am  watched  here. 
The  Federals  have  a  distinguished  regard  for 
me,  and  I  have  to  elude  su.'^picion,  as  well  as 
run  well,  when  I  do  get  ofut.  Two  hours  ago 
i  Federal  ar«ied  steamer,  whic  h  has  been 
coiling  here,  weighed  anchor,  and  ha?  protia- 
bly  left  the  harbor,  to  cruise  between  this 
place  and  Key  West.     As  they  passed,  one  of 


15fi 


MACARIA. 


tlic  crew  yelled  out  to  me  tliat  they  would 
wait  oubjide,  and  catth  me  certainly  this  time; 
tb;tt  I  had  made  my  last*  jaunt  to  Dixie,  etc. 
I  have  carefully  put  out  the  impression  that  I 
need  some  repairs,  which  can  not  be  finished 
this  week  ;  and  have  told  one  or  two.  confi- 
dentially, that  I  lould  not  leave  until  tlie  ar- 
rival of  a  certain  carpo  from  Sassau,  wliicli  is 
due  tn-niorrow.  That  Puritanical  craft  which 
stcirted  oil"  at  noon  does  not  expect  me  for 
several  days,  and  to-ftight  I  shall  rub  my 
fiuLMTS  ami  sail  out  ri<zht  in  her  wake.  Ha! 
ha!  hiiw  fl!e\  wiil  howl !  What  f;nashinjr  of 
teeth  tlicrc  ^il!  be,  when  tlu-y  hear  of  me  in  a 
Confederate  port  ?  And  now  about  your 
baL'irafie.  Have  everytliincr  ready  ;  I  will  show 
Willis  I  he  riirlit  wliarf,  and  at  dark  he  must 
brinj:  the  trunks  down  :  I  will  be  on  the  watch, 
and  send  a  boat  asliore.  About  sunset  you 
and  Miss  Grey  can  come  aboard,  as  if  for  a 
mt-re  vi.-it.  I  mu-^t  go  and  make  what  little 
preparation  I  can  for  your  comfort."  , 

Nothine  occurred  to  frustrate  the  plan  ;  Eric 
and   Electra  were  cordially  received,  and  at 
dusk  Willis  and  the  ba{r;raire  arrived  punctu- 
ally.    The  schooner  was  lyinjr  some  distance 
from  the  wharf  all  sails  down,  and  ap[)arent- 
ly  contemplating  no  movement.     With  dark- 
nes.i  came  a  brisk,  stiffeninfr  wind,  and  clouds 
ehuttinj:    out   even   dim    star-li^ht.     At   ten 
o'clock,  all  thinc's  beinfj  in  readiness,  the  cap-  j 
tain  went  on  ilr<k  ;  very  soon  after  the  glim- 
merin«:f  li<_dits  of  the  city,  then  the  frowning  | 
walls   of   Moro,   were    left    behind,  and    the  i 
"  Di.xie "  took  her  way  silently  and  swiftly  i 
seaward.  j 

About  two  o'clock,  being  unable  to  sleep  ; 
from  the  rockinp  of  the  vessel.  Electra,  know- 
ing that  Eric  was  still  on  deck,  crept  up  the 
■teps  in  the  darkness,  for  the  lights  had  been 
extinguished.  The  captain  was  passing,  but 
paused,  saying,  in  a  whisper: 

*•  Is  that  you,  Miss  Grey?  Come  this  way, 
and  1  will  show  you  something." 

He  grasped  her  hand,  led  her  to  the  bow, 
where  P'ric  wa-^  sitting  on  a  coil  of  rope,  and, 
pointing  straightforward,  added,  in  the  same 
«uj)pressed  tone  : 

"  Look  right  ahead — you  see  a  light  ?  The 
Philistines  are  upon  us!  Look  well,  and  you 
will  see  a  dark,  irregular  moving  mass;  that  is 
the  steaniA-  of  which  I  told  you.  Tiiey  have 
found  out  at  last  that  tliere  is  going  to  be  all 
sorts  of  a  gale,  and  as  they  can't  ride  it  like 
my  snug,  dainty  little  egg-shell,  they  are  put- 
ting ba'k  with  all  possible  speed.  Twenty 
minutes  ago  they  were  bearing  down  on  me; 
now,  you  see  that  they  will  pass  to  our  left. 
What  a  pity  they  don't  know  their  neighbors!" 

"  D©  you  think  that  they  will  not  see  youV" 

"  Certaiidy  !  with  sails  down,  ami  liglits 
out,  there  is  notliing  to  be  seiMi  on  such  a  night 
as  this.  .There!  don't  you  hear  her  paddles?" 

"No;' I  hear  nothing  but  the  roar  of  the 
wind  and  water." 


'*  Ah !  that  is  because  your  ears  arc  not 
trained  like  mine.  Great  Neptune  I  how  abe 
labors  already  !     Now  !  be  silent." 

On  came  the  steamer,  whieh  Electr.Vs  un- 
trained eyes,  almost  blinded  by  spray,  could 
liarely  discern  ;  and  her  Iw'art  beat  like  a  muf- 
fled drum  as  it  drew  nearer  and  nearer.  Once 
she 'heard  a  low,  chu'klinix  laugh  of  satisfac- 
tion escape  the  captain:  then,  with  startling 
distinctness,  the  ringing  of  a  bell  was  born« 
from  the  steanxx's  dc<k. 

"  Four  bells — two  o'clock.  How  chaurined 
they  will  be  to-morrow,  when  they  find  out 
they  passe<l  me  without  paying  their  respects." 
whis[)ered  the  captain. 

Gradually  the  ves.sel  receded,  the  dark  masa 
grew  indislini.'t,  the  light  ilickereil,  and  was 
soon  lost  to  view,  and  the  s<juiid  of  the  labor- 
ing machinery  was  drowned  in  the  roar  of  the. 
waves. 

"  Hurrah  !  for  the  '  Di.xie!'  Strike  a  light 
below,  Hutchinson,  and  get  some  glas.ses.  We 
must  have  a  little  champagne  in  honor  of  this 
performance.  Come  down.  Miss  Grey,  and 
you  too,  Mitchell ;  the  w.itcr  is  beginning  to 
break  very  near  your  feet.  Oh  !  but  you  must 
t<ake  .some  wine.  Miss  Grey.  I  can't  have  you 
looking  like  a  ghost  when  I  land  you  on  Con- 
federate soil.  Peo|)le  will  swear  I  starved 
you,  and  nothing  humiliates  im-  half  so  much 
as  an  iiiii)utation  on  my  hospitality.  Hero  's 
tp  the  CV)nfederacy  !  and  to  our  Heauregard 
and  Jolinston  !     CJod  bless  thcin  i)oth  !" 

Ele(  tra  drank  the  wine;  and,  before  he  went 
back  on  deck,  the  captain  made  a  comfbrtablt 
place  for  her  on  the  sofa  in  the  little  cabin. 
The  storm  increased  until  it  blew  a  perfect 
hurricane,  and  the  schooner  rolled  and  creak- 
ed, now  and  then  shivering  in  every  limber. 
It  was  Mtterly  impossible  to  sleep,  anil  Eric, 
who  was  suffering  from  a  headache,  passed  u 
mi.serable  night.  In  the  white  sickly  dawn 
the  captain  looked  in  again,  and  Electtra 
thought  that  no  ray  of  sunshine  could  be  nior«  . 
radiant  or  cheering  than  his  joyous  noble,  face. 

**  Good -morning.  I  wonder  iiL  I  look  a« 
much  like  a  drenched  lily  as  j^^  do,  Miss 
Grey  y  Doubtless,  much  more  likelBflrenched 
sunflower,  you  think.  Were  you  aUl^icd  all 
night  V" 

"  No,  sir;  I  knew  that  we  were  not  in  the 
hands  of  Palinurus." 

"Oh!  thank  you  for  your  confidence!  1 
will  tell  my  wife  of  that,  if  I  live  to  see  her 
again.  I  certainly  did  not  fall  overboard, 
which  was  lucky — for,  though  I  rather  pridu 
myself  on  my  proficiency  as  a  swimmer,  I  am 
very  sceptical  concerning  the  mythologic  thre« 
days  performance.  Mitchell,  I  hope  a  good 
cup  of  hot  coffee  will  set  your  head  straight." 

"How  is  the  storm?  Any  abatement?" 
asked  Eric. 

"  Not  a  whit  yet ;  but  the  wind  ha.!  veered 
a  little,  .and  I  tliink  that  by  twelve  o'clock  it 
will  break  away." 


MACARIA. 


157 


"  Captain,  can  I  go  on  deck  for  a  little 
wliilc  V" 

"  Whew!  My  dear  young  lady,  you  would 
not  be  able  to  fatch  your  broatli  again  i'ov  a 
hnlf'-Iioiir.  You  could  npt  stand  a  moment; 
spray  and  wind  would  blind  you,  and  the 
wavi;s  would  take  you  overboard — wash  you 
away." 

"  But  I  want  to  see  a  genuine  violent  storm 
at  sea.  I  shall  probably  never  have  another 
opjiortunity." 

"  I  will  answer  for  the  genuineness  of  this 
specimen,  if  you  really  want  to  look  out. 
Wrap  a  shawl  round  your  shoulders  ;  give  me 
your  hand ;  step  up ;  look  for  yourself.  No 
counterfeit — take  my  word  for  that.  Squally 
enough,  is  n't  it  V" 

A  wild  howling  wa,«;te  of  waters  leaped  and 
rolled  like  leaden  mountains  against  a  wan 
drab  sky,  where  dun  smoke -colored  clouds 
ti-ailed  sullenly  before  the  wind.  Foara-crown- 
ed  walls  towered  on  either  side  the  schooner, 
leaned  over  as  if  to  meet  and  crush  it,  and 
broke  in  wreaths,  of  spray  about  the  deck, 
while  ghastly  sheet-lightning  glimmered  cease- 
lessly. 

"  Old  Father  Neptune  must  be  in  a  tearing 
rage  with  his  pretty  Amphitrite,  to  churn  up 
all  this  commotion.  Don't  you  think  you  have 
seen  enough,  Miss  Grey  ?  You  are  getting 
wet." 

He  saw  her  face  flush  and  her  eyes  sparkle 
Btrangely. 

"  If  I  could  only  paint  this  sea !  If  I  could 
only  put  that  roll  and  sweep  of  Avaves  yonder 
upon  canvas !  I  couhl  ailord  to  die  young. 
Oh !  for  the  brush  of  Clarkson  Stanlield  lor 
one  hour  I  to  fix  that  sea — 'where  it  gathers 
itself  into  a  huge  billow,  fronting  the  blast  like 
an  angry  brow,  corrugated  in  agony  and  rage.' 
My  father  was  a  sailor,  and  1  think  I  must 
have  inherited  my  love  of  the  sea  from  him." 

"  Where  is  he  now  V" 

"  Dead — long  ago — before  I  was  born.  His 
ship,  the  "Electra,"  went  down  with  all  on 
board." 

"And  your  mother?" 

"  Named  me  for  the  wreck,  and  followed 
my  lather  Vrhen  I  was  four  months  old." 

As  swirls  of  spray  dashed  in  her  lace, 

"  llur  eyes  liad  louk.t  like  jirlsoDed  birJs.' 

"  Captain,  I  have  read  somewhere  of  a  Dutch 
painter  who,  in  his  passionate  longing  to  por- 
tray accurately  such  scenes  as  this,  had  himself 
lashed  to  the  deck  of  a  vessel  during  a  terrific 
gale,  where  he  could  study  and  note  the  pe- 
culiar aspects,  so  (lillicult  to  render  correctly. 
I  am  tempted  t»  follow  his  example.  Doubt- 
less you  cfuld  furnish  a  rope  lor  such  a 
purpose."  ^ 

"Not  even  a  bit  of  twine.  Come  down 
instantly,  Miss  Grey.  I  can't  afford  the  lux- 
ury of  a  physician  on  board  ;  and  if  you 
should  be  so  unfortunate  as  to  catch  a  catarrh 


or  spell  of  pneumonia  by  this  piece  of  impru- 
dence, 1  should  be  distressed  to  death,  and 
frightened  out  of  my  wits.  Come  down,  at 
once."  f 

About  noon  the  fury  of  the  gale-  subsided, 
the  sun  looked  out  through  riftsin  the  scudding 
clouds,  and  toward  night  -fields  of  quiet  blue 
were  once  more  visit)le.  By  next  mornmg  the 
weather  had  cleared  up,  with  a  brisk  westerly 
wind;  but  the  sea  slill  roiled  lieavdy;'and 
Eric,  unable  to  bear  the  moiion,  kept  below, 
loth  to  trust  himself  on  his  feet.  Electra 
strove  to  while  away  the  tedious  time  by  read- 
ing aloud  to  him  ;  but  many  a  yearning  look 
was  cast  toward  the  deck,  an<l  finally  she  left 
him  with  a  few  books,  and  ran  up  to  tlie  open 
air. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  third  day  after 
leaving  Havana,  she  was  silting  on  a  bulialo- 
robe  stretched  near  the  stern,  watching  th« 
waves  and  graceful  curls  of  toani  that  marked 
the  st'hooner's  path,  and  forgetful  lor  a  season 
of  the  fifth  volume  of  "Aiodern  Painters," 
which  lay  open  beside  her.  The  wind  had 
blown  back  lier  straw  hat,  and  her  short  black 
hair  Huttered  about  a  face  fully  exposed  to 
view. 

The  captain  had  been  tuning  a  guitar  for 
some  moments,  and  now  drew  near,  tlirowing 
himself  down  on  the  bull'alo-robe. 

"  What  are  you  staring  at  so  solemnly  ? 
Tell  me  what  you  are  thinking  of." 

"  If  you  are  really  curious,  you  are  welcome 
to  know.  1  was  only  watching  the  wake  of 
the  vessel,  and  thinking  of  mat  beautiful 
simile  of  Coleridge  in  the  '  Frieiul :'  •  Human 
experience,  like  the  stern -lights  of  a  ship  at 
sea,  illumines  only  the  path  we  have  passed 
over.'  " 

Her  clear  olive  cheeks  burned,  and  her 
great  shadowy  elfish  eyes  kindled,  as  was  their 
wont  when  her  feelings  were  deeply  stirred. 

"1  believe  you  are  an  artist,  Aliss  Grey  y" 

"  1  am  trying  to  become  one,  sir.  Before 
we  leave  you,  i  want  you  to  e.vaiuine  some  of 
my  sketches,  and  select  the  one  which  you  like 
best.  It  will  afford  me  great  pleasure  to  paint 
it  for  you,  as  a  feeble  token  of  my  gratitude  and 
appreciation  of  your  kiuduess." 

*•  Thank  you.  1  hope  the  day  is  not  distant 
when  1  shall  have  my  wife  with  me  once  more, 
and  then  1  shall  beg  you  to  paint  her  portrait 
lor  me." 

"  Where  is  she  ?'* 

"  At  our  home  in  Maryland." 

"  Are  you  a  Mary  lander,  Captain." 

"  Oh,  yes  !  but  that  is  no  place  for  true  men 
now.     Nothing  cau  be  accomplished  there  at     j 
this  juncture,  and  those  who  are  true  to  the     < 
Constitution  and  the  South  have  joined  the  Con-     1 
leUeraLc  service  in  one  form  or  another.      Wo 
shall  have  to  hang  that  infamous  traitor.  Hicks, 
before  we  can  tree  the  state  ;  and  it  is  because 
1  appreciate  the  lamentable  scarcily  of  armii 
and  ammunition,  that  I  am  engaged  in  mjr 


158 


MAC  ARIA. 


prcs'Ut  Imsiness.  If  I  arm  ten  tliousaml  men,  ' 
It  Will  i)(j  bolter  for  our  <:lorioiis  caiiiie  tlian  if  [ 
I  liHixiled  a  musket  myself.  Poor,  ilown-trod-  ] 
dcii,  liHii(i<  ulled,  humiliateil  Maiyhuul  !  Miss  ; 
Giry,y«)u  liave  jjrouably  not  heard  our  favorite  ' 
new  .-Jn;^,  •Maryland,  niy  Maryland?'  I  com- 
fort mysciCby  sinj:ftig  it  now  and  tlien,  while  ! 
huiiiJreds  ol  miles  ol  stormy  sea  toss  between  ; 
me  and  my  home.      Would  you  like  to  iiear  it?"  j 

"  By  all  means,  la  Europe  I,  of  eoursc,  | 
beard  nollMug."  j 

IK-  strui  k  a  few  full  rieh  chords,  and  sang  i 
the  fiirring  yyord.-:,  as  only  a  true  Marylander  ! 
can,  who  feels  all  the  wrongs  and  ignominy  of  ' 
bis  .-tate.  j 

^Ii>  tine  eyes  were  full  of  tears  as  he  began 
the    ia>t    piophetic  verse ;    and   when    it  was  ■ 
conciiuii  il,  he  iprang  up  and  repeated,  trium-  j 
phamly  : 

-  flic  biB»tIn.'»— »lic  biirnB:  Sh«  "11  cornel  she '11  come! 
Muiyliiinl;    M\  MiuyUuil!" 

"  Jl  such  be  the  feeling  of  her  sons,  Captain, 
■he  will  .soon  'gird  her  beauteous  limbs  with 
steul,"  aud  a.s  a  state  come  out  proudly  i'rom 
aniii:  the  Abomination  of  Desolation.  The 
Ulu^!c  is  peculiarly  adapted  to  the  burden  of 
the  nolile  thought^,  and  invests  them  with 
extraoiumary  j)0wcr  and  pathos.  The  won- 
deiiul  utlect  ot  national  lyrics  in  such  stormy 
timirs  as  these,  e.\enipliiics  the  truth  of  the 
adiiiiiiii.ir  remark,  wliicli  I  have  seen  very 
feiii  iluu.-.:y  applied  to  lieranger,  but  which 
was  111.'-;  (pjotcd,  1  believe,  by  l^letcher  of  bal- 
touii ;  •  li  a  man  were  permitted  to  make  all 
the  iKth.nl.s  he  need  not  care  who  should  make 
tbe  i.i>*a  of  a  naiiou.'  Oh!  what  a  suuset ! 
I  uen  1  .^.iw  anything  from  Fiesole  comparable 
to  tii>u..  " 

The  .sun  had  gone  down  below  the  water- 
line.  From  the  zenith,  eastward,  the  sky  was 
violet-hacd;  in  the  west,  light  cloud -liakes 
hiul  gJiLiiered  in  fleecy  masses  and  semi- spiral 
whill^ ;  roiue  burned  lik.e  dashes  of  vermilion 
in  lain-p  of  beryl  or  chrysopruse,  others,  in 
purpii;  pomj).,  fringed  their  edges  with  gold; 
enowy  u.ounlaiu  ranges  wttrt.  tipped  with  fire, 
pill.uiu  cathedrals  with  domes  of  silver;  and, 
beiicatii  i^ll,  glared  a  liquid  sea  of  rippling 
llame.  A  sky  which  only  Kuskin  could- de- 
Bcribi  ,  or   turner  paint. 

•'  1  lie  West  is  an  altar,  where  earth  daily 
gaLiiei>  up  her  garlauded  beauty  in  sacrificial 
oir<  riiij;  to  God.  Agamemnon-like,  she  gives 
her  loveliest." 

Tlust;  words  seemed  to  pass  the  girl's  lips  un- 
con.-ciously,  as  she  leaned  forward  with  hands 
claspL-d  oil  her  lap  ;  and  smiling  at  the  breath- 
less eagerness  ot  her  fa(;e,  and  the  to  him 
incomiJielieiisible  enthusiasm  she  evinced,  the 
captain  ^aid ; 

"  if  you  are  so  very  fond  of  such  things,  I 
wisii  you  coula  see  a  midnight  sky  in  the 
tropi i.-^,  as  1  have  seeu  it,  sailing  between  Rio 
Janeiro  and  Baltimore.      1  believe  1  have  not 


miK'h  sentiment  in  my  nature,  but  maar  a 
night  I  have  lain  awake  on  deck,  looking  up 
at  tlie  stars  that  glowed,  burned — 1  hardly 
know  how  to  express  it — like  great  diamonds 
elu>tered  on  black  vtdvet.  There  are  splendid 
constellations  there,  which  you  have  never 
seen.  \Vhen  we  win  intlependence  anil  peace, 
I  intend  to  have  a  fine  steamship  of  my  own, 
and  then  I  shall  ask  you  to  make  a  voyage 
with  me  as  far  as  Uruguay.  I  will  show  yon 
sc-nery  in  Brazil  that  will  put  you  on  your 
knees  in  adoration." 

"  I  shall  accept  the  invitation  wben  peace  is 
made.  Captain  Wright,  have  y.ou  any  cbil- 
drtrn  ?" 

"  Yes — two ;  a  son  and  daughter ;  the  eldest 
five  years  old." 

*'  Then  train  them  up  to  love  sun.sets,  stars, 
flowers,  clouds  of  all  kinds.     We  are  creatures 
of  education,  and  I  hold  it  the  imperative  duty 
of  p<'\rents to  teach  their  children  to  appreciate 
the  beautiful  things  in  this  world,  which  God 
has  given  to  gild  iife  with.     There  is  grief  and 
gloom  enough  at  best  ;  and  so  much  innocent 
ex(jnisite  joy  may  be  extracted  from  a  thousand 
sources,  that  it  seenis  philosophic,  as  well  hk 
a  sacn-d    duty,  to  leap  the  great  harvest  of 
happiness   which   calls   to    us   from  a   proper 
appreciation  of  Beauty.  1  do  not  mean  learned 
di>(juisitions,    or   tedious,   scientific    terminol- 
ogy.     A  child  can  admire,  love  an  aster  or 
a  magnolia,   without   underslaiiding    botany  ; 
may  watch  lor  and  ilelight  in   sucli  a  sky  as 
that,  without  classil"\ing  the  clouds,  or  desig- 
nating the  gorgeous  tiiila  in  genuine  artistic 
phraseology ;  may  clap  its  little   hands,   and 
shout  with  joy,  in  looking  at  the  stars,  without 
knowing  Orion  from  Ursa  Major.    I  have  often 
been   laughed  at,  and   requested  not  to  talk 
nonsense,  when  1  have  expressed  these  views; 
have  been    sneered  at  as  an  enthusiast ;  but 
the  longer  1  live  the  more   earnest   becomes 
my  conviction   of  the   truth   of  my   opinion. 
Tiie   usetui,   the    material    necessities  of  life, 
require  little  study;  our  comfort  involves  at- 
j  tention  to  them  ;  but  the  more  ideal  sources  of 
I  peace  and  enjo_\ment  demand  care  and  culti- 
'  vatioii.     J  am  an  orj.dian  ;  1  had  no  paivntal 
hand  to  guide  my  thoughts  and  asj)iratioiis  to 
I  the  beautiful,  ill  all  ita  protean  jihases ;  my  lilli 
has  not  been  spent  in  the  most  flowery  paths  ; 
'  b>it   because,  as  a  lonely  chiUI,    I   learned  to 
j  derive  pleasure  from  communion  with  Nature 
and  An,  1  have  seasons  of  rapturou.-?  enjoy- 
ment which  all  California  could  not  purcliase. 
The  us«ful,  the  practical,  and  the  beautiful  are 
I  not  opposed — arc  even  united — if  people  would 
only  open  their  eyes  to  the  trutti.     1  am  uo 
morbid  sentimentalist  or  dreaming  enthusiast; 
if  nature  intended  mc  lor  such,  a  cold,  matter- 
of-fact  world  has  cheated  me  out  of  my  birth- 
right.    1  live,  sustain  myself  by  my  art,  as  you 
by  your  sailor's  craft;  it  feeds  and  clothes  my 
■  body  as  well  as  my  mind.     But  1  can't  bear 
[  to  walk  through  a  graud  metropolitan  cathe- 


MACARIA. 


Up 


■  dralof  wonflcrfiil  and  vanedlovelincss,  and  see 
the  endless  caravan  of  men  and  women  tramp- 
ing along  its  glorious  aisles,  looking  neither 
to  right  nor  left,  oblivious  of  surrounding 
«plendors,  gazing  stolidly  down  at  the  bag  of 
coins  in  their  hands,  or  the  bales  of  cotton,  or 
hogslieads  of  sugar  or  tobacjo,  they  are  rolling 
before  them.  I  long  to  lay  my  hand  on  their 
shoulders,  to  stay  their  hurrying  steps,  and 
whisper,  gently  :  '  Fellow-pilgrims,  brothers. 
Bisters,  look  up  at  the  glories  that  canopy  you. 
Bend  your  knees  one  instant  before  yonder 
shrineji  of  Beauty.'  Oh  !  esthetics  is  a  heav- 
enly ladder,  where,  like  Jacob's  angels,  pure 
thoughts  and  holy  aspirations  come  from  and 
go  to  God.  Whatever  tends  to  elevate  and 
ennoble  the  soul  is  surely  useful ;  and  love  of 
beauty  is  a  mighty  educational  engine,  which 
all  may  handle  if  they  will.  Captain,  sow  the 
soed>  of  appreciation  early  in  your  children's 
hearts,  and  they  will  thank  you  when  you  are 
an  old  silver-haired  man." 

Across  that  rosy  sea  tripped  magic  memo- 
ries. The  sailor's  heart  found  its  distant  ha- 
Yen  in  the  joylul,  tender  welcome  of  his  blue- 
eyed  wife — the  lisjiing,  birdish  tone  of  his  fair- 
browed,  curly-headed  chihb-en,  stretching  their 
little  dimpled  arms  to  clasp  his  neck;  and  to 
the  artist -woman  came  melancholy  thoughts 
of  by-gone  years,  shrouded  in  crumbling  gar- 
lands— of  hopes  and  feverish  aspirations  that 
had  found  their  graves — of  her  future  cheer-. 
less  life,  her  lonely  destiny. 

For  some  time  both  were  silent;  then  the 
captain  roused  himself  from  his  dream  of  home, 
aud,  passing  his  iiand  over  his  eyes,  said : 

"  Well,  Miss  Grey,  I  shall  place  you  on  Con- 
federate soil  to-morrow,  God  willing.'' 

"  Then  you  are  going  to  Mobile  ?" 

"  Yes;  I  shall  try  hard  to  get  in  there  early 
in  the  morning.  You  will  know  your  i'ate  be- 
fore many  l.ours." 

"  Do  }  ou  regard  this  trial  as  particularly 
hazardous  ?  "  ^ 

"  Of  course  ;  the  blockading  squadrons  grow 
more  elficient  and  expert  every  day,  and  some 
danger  necessarily  attends  every  trial.  Mo- 
bile ought  to  be  pretty  well  guarded  by  this 
time." 

Tiie  wind  wa.s  favorable,  and  the  schooner 
ploughed  its  way  swiftly  through  the  autumn 
night.  The  captain  did  not  ilose  his  eyes; 
and  just  about  daylight  Electra  and  Eric, 
aroused  by  a  sudden  running  to  and  fro,  rose, 
and  simultaneously  made  their  appearance  on 
deck. 
,'  •'  U'hat  is  the  matter,  Wright?" 

"  Matter !  why,  look  ahead,  my  dear  fel- 
low, and  see  where  we  are.  Yonder  is  Sand 
Iiland  light-house,  and  a  little  to  the  right  is 
Fort  Morgan.  But  the  fleet  to  the  left  is 
hardly  six  mile^  off,  and  it  will  be  a  tight  race 
ii  I  get  in." 

Ihere  was  but  a  glimmering  light  rimming 
the  East,  where  two  or  three  stars  burned  with 


indescribable  brilliance  and  boauty,  and  in 
the  gray  haze  and  wreatlis  of  mist  which 
curled  up  over  the  white-capped  waves  Elec- 
tra could  distinguish  nothing.  Tiie  air  wan 
chill,  and  she  said,  with  a  slight,  shiver: 

"  I  can't  see  any  light-house." 

"  There  is,  of  course,  no  light  there,  thes« 
war-times,  but  you  see  that  tall  wiiite  tower, 
don't  you '?  There,  look  through  my  glass. 
Tiiat  low  dark  obje(;t  yondcj*  is  the  outline 
of  the  fort;  you  will  see  it  more  distinctly 
after  a  little.  Now,  look  rig  lit  where  my 
finger  points ;  that  is  the  fiag-srafl.  Look  up 
over  head — 1  have  hoisted  our  (la;.',  and  pretty 
soon  it  will  be  a  target  for  those  dogs.  Hal 
Mitchell!  Hutchinson!  they  see  us!  There 
is  some  movement  among  ilu-m.  They  are 
getting  ready  to  cut  us  off  tliis  side  «f  th« 
Swash  channel  !     We  shall  .see." 

lie  had  crowded  on  all  sail,  and  the  littl* 
vessel  dashed  through  the  ligiit  fog  as  if  con- 
scious of  her  danger,  and  resolved  to  sustain 
herself  gallantly.  Day  broke  fully,  sea  and 
sky  took  the  rich  orange  tint  v.iin-li  only  au- 
tumn mornings  give,  and  in  this  i:low  a-Feder- 
al  frigate  and  sloop  slipped  irom  their  moor- 
ings, and  bore  down  threateningly  on  th« 
graceful  bounding  schooner. 

"But  for  the  fog,  which  puzzled  me  about 
three  o'clock,  I  should  ha\e  luu  by  unseen, 
and  they  would  never  have  known  it  till  I 
was  safe  in  Navy  cove.  We  will  beat  titem, 
though,  as  it  is,  by  about  twenty  minutes. 
An  hour  ago  I  was  afraid  I  sliouid  have  to 
beach  her.  Are  you  gettinu:  tngiitcued,  Mis« 
Grey*?"  ' 

"  Oh,  no  !  I  would  not  havi:  missed  this  for 
any  consideration.  How  rapidly  the  Federal 
vessels  move.     They  are  gaining  on  us. ' 

Her  curling  hair,  damp  with  unsi,  clustered 
around  her  forehead  ;  she  Irad  wrapped  a  scar- 
let crape  shawl  about  her  shoulder.^,  and  stood, 
with  her  red  lips  apart  and  trembling,  watch- 
ing the  exciting  race. 

"  Look  at  the  frigate  ! " 

There  was  a  flash  at  her  bow,  a  curl  of 
white  smoke  rolled  up,  then  a  heavy  roar, 
and  a  thirty -two  pounder  rounil  shot  fell 
about  a  hundred  yards  to  the  right  of  the 
vessel. 

A  yell  of  defiance  rent  the  air  from  the  crew 
of  the  "Dixie'  —  hats  were  waved  —  and, 
snatching  off  her  shawl,  Electra  shook  its  bright 
folds  to  the  stiffening  breeze,  while  her  hot 
cheeks  matched  them  in  depth  of  color. 

Another  and  another  shot  was  fired  in  quick 
succession,  and  «o  accurate  had  they  become, 
that  the  last  whizzed  through  the  rigging,  cut- 
ting one  of  the  small  ropes. 

"  Humph  !  tlK-y  are  getting  saucy,"  said  thp 
captain,  looking  up  coolly,  wli-.n  the  yells  of 
his  crew  ceased  for  a  moment — and,  with  a 
humorous  twinkle  in  his  fine  eyes,  he  added  : 

"  Better  go  below,JVli»s  Grey  ;  they  might 
clip  one  of  your  curls  next  tune.     The  Tan- 


leo 


MACAIUA. 


d.vls  gee  you,  I  dare  say,  and  your  red  flag    added  earnest  persuasion,  and,  with  some  re- 
stin^'9  their  Yankee  pride  a  little."  I  luitaiice,  the  artist  finally  eonsented.     They 

"  Do  you  suppose  they  ean  distinguish  '  were  prepareil  for  the  silent,  solemn  aspect 
me  ?"  j  ol  tKe  house,  and  for  the  inourniiiii-dressoi  the 

"  CertaiHly.  Throujrh  my  glass  I  can  see  I  orphan;  but  not  for  the  profound  calm,  the 
the  gunners  at  work,  and,  of  course,  they  see  i  melancholy,  tearless  composure  with  vhich 
vou.  Should  not  be  surprised  if  they  aimed  '  she  received  them.  Mental  'and  physical 
specially  at  \ou.  That  is  the  style  of  New  I  sutFcring  had  sadly  changed  her.  1  lie  oval 
hngland  chivalry."  I  face  was  thinner,  and    her  form  had  lost  its 

\Vl,iz — whiz;  both  sloop  and  frigate  were  |  roundness,  but  the  countenance  retained  its 
firing  now  in  good  earnest,  and  one  shell  ex-  singular  loveliness,  and  the  mesmeric  splendor 
plodcd  a  few  yards  from  the  side  of  the  little  of  the  large  eyes  seemed  enhanced.  Of  "her 
vcsael,  tossing'  the  loam  and  water  over  the  father  she  did  not  speak,  but  gave  her  nnde  a 
''roup  on  deck.  I  written  statement  of  all  the  facta  which  sh« 

"  They  tliink  you  have  hardly  washed  your  '  had  been  able  to  gather  concerning  the  cir- 
face  \cl,  Aliss  (jrey,  and  are  courteously  ;  cumstances  of  his  death  ;  and  thus  a  tacit  com- 
anxious  lo  perlorm  the  operation  lor  you.  l  pact  was  formed  to  make  no  reference  to  the 
iiut  the  game  is  up.  Look  yonder  !  Hurrah  painful  subject 
for  Di.\ie  !  and  Fort  Morgan  !" 

'•Jfrom  Ihe  dim  lUg-stnil"  l).vtierv  bclluvrad  a  gun," 

The    boom   of  a   columbiad  from  the    fort 


shook  the  air  like  thunder,  and  gave  to  the 
b!ocka<lers  the  unmistakable  a.ssurance,  "  Thus 
lar,  and  no  farther.' 


As  she  accompanied  Elcctra  to  the  room 
prepared  for  her,  on  the  night  of  her  arrival, 
the  latter  asked,  with  ill-concealed  einotion  : 

"  Irene,  can  you  tell  me  any  tiling  about 
Russell  y  I  am  very  anxious  to  hear  some- 
thing of  him. ' 

Irene  placed  the  silver  lamp  on  the  table, 


The  schooner  strained  on  its  way;  a  few  and,  standing  in  its  glow,  answered,  (piietly  : 
shot  fell  behind,  and  soon,  under  the 'frowning  "He  was  wounded  in  the  arm  at  Manassa, 
bastions  ot  the  fort,  whence  the  Confederate  j  but  retains  command  of  his  regiment,  and  is 
banner  Ih^ated  so  proudly  on  the  balmy  Gulf  I  doing  very  well.     Dr.  Arnold  is  the  regnyen* 

■     '  tal  surgeon,  and  in  otue  of  his  letters  to  me  he 


breeze,  spreading  its  free  ibids  like  an  tegis, 
the  gallant  little  vessel  passed  up  the  channel, 
and  came  to  anchor  in  Mobile  bay,  amid 
the  bailouts  of  crew  and  garrison,  and  welcomed 
by  a  salute  ol  five  guns. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

Immediately  after  her  arrival  in  Mobile, 
ICIectra  prepared  to  Ibrward  her  despatches  by 
CapLani  W'ngnt,  wliose  business  called  him  to 
Uichmond  belore  his  return  to  Cuba;  and  an 
examiucftion  of  them  piovctl  that  the  expedi- 
ent rwsorted  to  was  perfectly  successful.  By 
moistening  the  edges  ol  the  drawing-paper, 
the  tissue  missive  was  drawn  out  uninjured, 
and,  to  Eric's  surprise,  she  removed  the 
«;arelully-slitched  blue  silk  wliich  lined  the  tops 
of  her  travelling  gauntlets,  and  extracted 
similar  despatclies,  all  of  which  were  at  once 
transmitted  to  the  seat  of  government. 
\Vhile  waiting  tor  a  boat,  they  heard  the  paiu- 
liil  tidings  of  Major  lluniingdon's  death, 
which  increased  Eric's   impatience    to   reach 

W .     Tlie  remainder  ot  the  journey  was  1  well  after  your  fntiguin_ 

sad,  and  lour  days  alter  leaving  the  Ciulf  City  '  get  up   early.     I    will    send   your  breakfast 

the  lights  of  W and  roar  of  the  Falls  ;  to  your  room,  whenever  you  wish  it." 

simultaneously   greeted  the   spent  travellers.  \      She  turned  away,  but  the  artist  stepped  bc- 
ilaving   telegraphed   of  his  safe  arrival,  the  '■  fore  her  and  caught  up  both  her  hands, 
carriage    was    wailing    at     the    depot,    and,      "Oh,  Irene  !    it  grieves  me  to  see  you  look- 
Andrew  handed  to  Electra  a   note  from  his    ing  so.     Talk  to  ine  about  your  great  pent-up 
mistress,  requesting  hei;  to  come  at  once  to  her    sorrows,  and  it  will  relieve  you." 
house,   instead  of  going  to  the   hotel.     Eric         "My    sorrows    cannot    be     talked     away. 


mentioned  that  your  cousin's  wound  was  not 
serious." 

"  I  am  going  to  him  immediately.*" 

"  Unfortunately,  you  will  not  be  allowed  to 
do  so.  The  woundeil  were  removed  to  Uich- 
mond as  promptly  as  jjossible,  but  your  cousin 
remained  at  Manassa,  where  ladies  are  not 
permitted." 

"  Tlun  I  will  write  to  him  to  meet  me  in 
Richmond." 

Irene  made  no  reply,  and,  watching  her  all 
the  wliili',  Electra  asked  : 

"  When  did  you  see  him  last  V  How  did  be 
look  V" 

"  The  day  before  he  started  to  Richmond. 
He  was  very  well,  I  believe,  but  looked 
harassed  and  paler  than  usual.  He  is  so  ro- 
bust, however,  that  1  think  you  need  enter- 
tain no  ajiprehension  concerning  his  health." 

The  inllcxible  features,  the  low,  clear,  firm 
voice  were  puzzling,  and  Electra's  brow 
thickened  and  darkened  as  she  thought : 

"  Her  father  is  dead  now  ;  there  is  ho  obsta-f 
cle  remaining.  She  must  love  him,  and  yet 
sbo  gives  no  sign  of  interest." 

Good-nigla,  Electra  ;  I  hope  you  will  sleep 
journey.     Do   not 


MACARIA. 


161 


Graves  never  pive  jDack  their  dead.     Good- 
nig^lit,  my  dear  Electra." 

Etectra  looked  at  her  sadly,  wistfully  ;  and, 
suddenly  tlirowing  her  ar;ns  about  the  queen- 
ly figure,  kissed  lier  white  eold  iheck.  Jrene 
returned  the  caress,  withdrew  from  the 
embraee,  and  ])assed  to  her  own  room. 

Jealous  women  are  rarely  generous  toward 
their  rivals,  and  Klcetra's  exacting,  moody 
character  rendered  it  peculiarly  difiicult  for 
her  to  stifle  her  feelings.  She  would  most 
certainly  have  cordially  hated  any  other  wom- 
an who  stood  between  her  and  her  cousin's 
heart ;  but  before  the  nobility,  the  loftiness, 
the  cool  purity  of  Irene's  soul,  her  own  rest- 
less spirit  bowed  down  with  emotion.i  nearly 
akin  to  adoration.  The  solemn  serenity  of 
that  pale  brow  awed  and  soothed  the  fevered, 
tumultuous  nature  of  the  artist;  and  she  had 
schooled  herself  to  look  upon  her  as  Russell's 
future  wife — with  a  pang  of  pain,  it  is  true,  but 
certainly  with  no  touch  of  bitterness.  She 
could  endure  that  he  should  love  so  devotedly 
one  w!io  ministered  at  the  shrine  of  Christian 
charity,  and  whose  hands  threw  down,  wher- 
ever she  moved,  the  blesj^ed  largess  of  peace, 
contentment,  and  plenty.  Tliey  stood  in 
strange  relationship,  these  two  women.  One 
ignorant  of  the  ab>orbing  love  of  the  other  for 
the  man  to  whom  she  had  given  her  heart 
long  years  ago ;  and  that  other  conscious  of 
an  undying  affection,  which  she  silently 
inurued  in  her  own  bosom. 

T\^odays  later,  they  sat  together  before  one 
of  the  parlor  windows.  PZlectra  was  engaged 
in  tearing  oil"  and  rolling  bandages,  while 
Irene  slowly  scraped  lint  from  a,  quantity  of 
olil  linen,  which  filled  a  basket  at  her  side. 
Neither  had  spoken  (or  some  time  ;  the  sadness 
of  their  orcupation  called  up  gloomy  thoughts  ; 
but  finally  I'>lectra  laid  down  a  roll  of  cloth, 
and,  interlacing  her  slight  fingers,  said  : 

"  Irene,  as  you  sit  there  you  remind  me  of 
the  'Cameo  Bracelet.'  You  have  seen  it,  of 
course  V" 

"Yes;  it  is  one  of  the  finest  imaginative 
creations  I  have  ever  read;  and  I  can  not 
divest  myself  of  the  apprehension  that  it  ad- 
umbrates the  fate  of  New  Orleans." 

Electra  watched  the  motion  of  her  compan- 
ion's fingers,  and  in  a  rich,  musical  voice  re- 
peated the  words,  beginning : 

"  Pho  '6  •ifting  lint  for  the  brriTe  who  bled, 
Anil  1  watrh  horfiiigem  float  iukJ  flow, 
Ovfr  tin-  linen,  as,  thrrail  by  thread, 
II  [lakes  tu  hrr  lap  like  aiiuw." 

•'  Irene,  the  women  of  the  South  must  exeN 
ci.se  an  important  influence  in  determining 
our  national  destiny  ;  and  because  I  felt  this  so 
fully,  1  hurried  home  to^hare  the  perils,  and 
privations,  and  trials  of  my  txiuntrywomen.  It 
seems  to  me  that  no.  true  son  or  daughter  can 
linger  in  Europe  now,  with  the  broad  ocean 
surging  between  them  and  the  bloody  soil  of 
their  native  land.  It  is  not  my  privilege  to 
11 


enter  the  army,  and  wield  a  sword  or  musket; 
but  I  am  going  to  true  womanly  work — into 
the  crowded  hospitals,  to  watch  faithfully  over 
sick  and  wounded." 

"  I  ap[)rove  your  plan,  think  it  your  duty, 
and  wish  that  1  couUl  start  to  Richmond  with 
you  to-morrow — for  I  believe  that  in  this  way 
we  may  save  valuable  lives.  You  should,  as 
you  have  said,  go  on  at  once  ;  you  have  noth- 
ing to  keep  you ;  your  work  is  waiting  for  yon 
there.  But  my  position  is  different ;  I  have 
many  things  to  arrange  here  before  I  can  join 
you.  I  want  to  see  the  looms  at  work  on  the 
plantation ;  and  am  going  down  next  week 
with  uncle  Eric,  to  consult  with  the  overseer 
about  several  changes  which  I  desire  made 
concerning  the  negroes.  When  all  this  is  ac- 
complished, J,  top,  shall  come  into  the  hospi- 
tals." 

"  About  what  time  may  I  expect  you  ?" 

"  Not  until  you  see  me ;  but  at  the  earliest 
practicable  day." 

"  Your  uncle  objects  very  strenuously  to 
such  a  plan,  does  he  not?" 

''  He  will  acquiesce  at  the  proper  time. 
Take  care  I  you  are  making  your  bandages  too 
wide." 

"  A  long  dark  vista  stretches  before  the 
Confederacy.  I  can  not,  like  many  persons, 
feel  sanguine  of  a  speedy  termination  of  the 
war." 

"  Yes — a  vista  lined  with  the  bloody  graves 
of  her  best  sons;  but  beyond  glimmers  Free- 
dom— Independence.  In  that  light  we  shall 
walk  without  stumbling.  Deprived  of  liberty 
we  can  not  exist,  and  its  price  was  fixed  when 
the  foundations  of  time  were  laid,"  I  believe 
the  termination  of  the  war  to  be  contingent 
only  on  the  method  of  its  prosecution.  Agath- 
ocles,  with  thirteen  thousand  men,  established 
a  brilliant  precedent,  which  Scipio  followed  so 
successfully  in  the  second  Punic  war ;  and 
when  our  own  able  generals  are  permitted  to 
emulate  those  illustrious  leaders  of  antiquity, 
then,  and  I  fear  not  until  then,  shall  we  be 
able  to  dictate  terms  of  peace." 

"  Your  devotion,  then,  is  unshaken,  even  by 
your  sorrows." 

"  Unsiiaken  !  Does  the  precious  blood  of  a 
sacrifice  unsettle  the  holy  foundations  of  the 
altar  V" 

"  But,  Irene,,  if  you  could  have  foreseen  all 
that  Secession  has  cost  you  V" 

The  mourner  raised  her  eyes  from  the  snowy 
heap  of  lint,  and  answered,  with  impressive 
earnestness  and  pathos : 

"  Could  I  have  foreseen  the  spirit  which 
actuates  the  North — the  diabolical  hate  and 
ficndishness  which  it's  people  have  manifested — 
and  had  1  known  that  resistance  would  have 
cost  the  lives  of  all  in  the  Confederacy,  I 
should  have  urged  Secession  as  the  only  door 
of  escape  from  political  bondage  Rather 
would  1  hare  men,  women,  and  children  fill 
one  wide,  common  grave,  than  live  iu  subjec- 


102 


MAC  ARIA. 


tion  to,  or  connection  with,  a  peojile  so  de- 
praved, unscrupulous,  and  (Jodless.  Electra, 
national,  like  individual  life,  which  is  not  no- 
ble, free,  and  honorable,  is  not  worth  the  liv- 
ing. A  people  who  can  survive  their  liberty, 
are  beneath  contempt;  and  to-day,  desolate 
tliOUfih  I  am.  I  would  sooner  take  my  place  by 
my  lather'*  side,  than  recall  him  to -Jive  a  sub- 
j«Mt  of  the  despotic  ;rovcrnnient  at  \Vashin;.j- 
ton.  Even  when  I  believed  the  friendl}-  pro- 
fessions of  thousands  at  the  North — when  I 
believed  in  the  existence  of  a  powerful  con- 
stitutional and  conservative  party — I  was,  from 
the  bej:inning,  a  Secessionist;  and  now  that 
the  mask  of  political  cant  is  stripped  from 
them,  I  am  more  than  ever  eonvinceil  of  the 
t'orreotness  of  my  views,  and  the  ab;?olute  ne- 
ciissity  of  the  step  we  took.  The  ultimate 
result  can  never  affect  the  question  of  the 
ri^'ht  and  propriety  of  Secession,  though  it 
iiKiy  demonstrate  the  deplorable  consequences 
<>l'  our  proL-rastiuation.  In  attestation  of  the 
necessity  of  separation,  stand  the  countless 
graves  of  our  dear  and  gallant  dead.  I  look 
to  a  just  God  to  avenge  them,  and  deliver  us." 
"  But  do  you  still  cling  to  a  belief  in  the 
possibility  of  llepublican  forms  of  governmentV 
This  is  a  question  which  constantly  disquiets 

"My  faith  in  that  ])0s.sibility' is  unshaken. 
Entire  self-abnegation  I  certainly  expected, 
hoped  for,  on  the  part  of  our  people  ;  and  I 
still  feel  assured  that  the  great  masses  are 
cjyiable  of  patriotism  as  sublime  as  the  w6rld 
ever  witnessed,  and  that  our  noble  armies  have 
had  no  equal  in  the  history  of  our  race. 
Nevertheless,  it  is  apparent  to  those  who 
ponder  the  aspect  of  public  alTairs  that  dom- 
agogifim  crawls  along  its  customary  xinuous 
patli,  with  serpent- eyes  fastened  on  self-ag- 
grandizement. The  pure  ore  of  our  country 
will  be  found  in  the  ranks  of  our  armies;  and 
the  few  scheming  politicians,  plotting  for 
position,  for  oHices  of  emolument  in  civil  or 
military  departments,  will  prove  the  dross  in 
ill"  revolutionary  crucible.  I  have  no  apjire- 
iu'iision  for  our  future  as  long  as  demagogism 
and  nepotism  can  be  kept  down;  for  out  of 
these  grow  innumerable  evils — not  the  least  of 
which  is  the  intrusting  of  important  j)osts  to 
the  hands  of  men  who  have  none  of  the  re- 
quisites, save  their  relationship  to,  or  possession 
of.  the  favor  of  those  in  authority.  If  the 
nation  will  but  mark  the  unworthy  sons  whose 
gras|)iiig,  selfish  ambition  will  not  even  be  re- 
strained in  hours  of  direst  peril  to  the  cause, 
and  brand  them  with  Mene,  Mene,  we  shall 
yet  teach  the  world  that  self-government  is 
feasible." 

"  But  in  Europe,  where  the  subject  is  eagerly 
canvassed,  the  impression  obtains  that,  in  the 
great  fundamental  principle  of  our  govern- 
ment, will  be  found  the  germ  of  its  dissolution. 
This  war  is  wanted  to  establish  the  right  of 
Secession,  and  the  doctrine  that  'all  just  gov- 


crnmonts  rest  on  the  consent  of  the  governed.' 
Vv'ith  such  a  precedent,  it  would  be  worse 
than  stultification  to  object  to  the  secession  of 
any  state  or  states  now  constituting  the  Con- 
fiilcracy,  who  at  a  future  day  may  chooso  to 
withdraw  from  the  present  compa -t.  Grant- 
ing our  independence,  which  Europe  regards 
as  a  foregone  conclusion,  what  assurance  have 
you  (say  they,  gloating,  in  anticipation,  over 
the  j)rospect)  that,  so  soon  as  the  common 
dangers  of  war,  which  for  a  time  cemented 
you  so  closely,  are  over,  entire  disintegration 
will  not  ensue,  and  all  your  boasts  end  in  some 
dozen  anarchical  pseudo-republics,  like  those  of 
.South  America  and  Mexico  ?  Irene,  I  con- 
fess I  have  a  haunting  horror  of  the  inllueuce 
of  demagogues  on  our  future.  You  know  Sir 
Robert  Walpole  once  said  :  '  Patriots  are  very 
easily  raised.  You  have  but  to  refuse  an  un- 
reasonable request,  and  up  springs  a  patriot.' 
I  am  afraid  that  disaj)pointed  puliticiaus  will 
sow  seeds  of  dissension  among  us."' 

"  That  is  an  evil  which  our  legislators  must 
guard  against,  by  timely  provision.  We  are 
now,  thank  God  !  a  thoroughly  homogeneous 
people,  with  no  antagonistic  systems  of  labor, 
necessitating  contlicting  interests.  As  states, 
we  are  completely  identified  in  commerce  and 
agriculture,  and  no  dillerences  need  arise. 
Purified  from  all  connection  with  the  North, 
and  with  no  vestige  ol"  the  mischievous  ele- 
ment of  I^ew  England  Puritanism,  which,  like 
other  poisonous  Mycelium,  sj)riiigs  up  pertina- 
ciously where  even  a  shred  is  permitted,  we  can 
be  a  prosperous  and  noble  people.  Rather 
than  witness  our  national  corruption  through 
the  thousand  infiuences  which  have  so  olten 
degraded  people  of  vast  wealth,  I  would  gladly 
welcome  the  iron  currency  and  frugal  public 
tables  of  Lycurgus.  One  possible  souile  of 
evil  has  occurred  to  me.  Unless  our  j)lanter3 
everywhere  become  good  agricultural  cliemists, 
and  by  a  moderate  outlay  renew  their  lands 
every  year,  the  planting  interest  will  gradually 
dril't  westward,  in  pursuit  of  Iresh  fertile  fields, 
and  thus  leave  such  of  the  more  eastern  states 
as  possess  great  advantciges  in  the  water  line 
to  engage  in  manufactures  of  various  kinds. 
That  negro  labor  is  by  no  means  so  profitable 
in  factory  as  field,  seems  well  established  ;  and 
if  this  condition  of  all'airs  i*  allowed  and  en- 
couragcil,  contrariety  of  interests  will  soon 
show  itself,  and  demagogues  will  climb  into 
place  by  clamoring  lor  'protection.'     Heaven 

S reserve  us  from  following  the  example  of 
ew  England  and  Pennsylvania !  But  if  free- 
trade  is  declared,  and  our  ports  are  thrown 
open  to  all  the  markets  of  the  world,  except 
Lincolndom,  the  evil  will  be  arrested.  True, 
Europe  has  no  love  for  the  Confederacy,  aud 
we  certainly  have  as  little  for  trans- Atlantic' 
nations — but  the  rigid  laws  of  political  econo- 
my forge  links  of  amity.  If  our  existence  as  a 
Republic  depends  upon  the  perpetuity  of  the 
institution  of  slavery,  then,  it  seems  to  me,  that 


MACARIA. 


163 


tlie'aim  of  our  legislators  should  be  to  render 
us  par  excellence  an  agricultural  people — and, 
with  the  exception  of"  great  national  arsenals 
and  workshops,  to  discourage  home  manufac- 
tories. I  hope,  too,  for  an  amendment  of  our 
constitution,  which  shall  render  the  n)embers 
of  the  cabinet,  and  all  our  foreign  ministers, 
subject  entirely  to  the  appointment  of  Qon- 
gress,  and  the  tenure  of  the  latter  class  of 
officials  for  life  or  good  behavior,  instead  of 
being  selected  by  the  President,  as  heretofore, 
for  four  or  six  years.  To  the  disgraceful  hunt 
for  office  is  to  be  attributed  much  of  the 
acrimony  of  party  feeling  which  characterizes 
presidential  campaigns.  When  our  Presidents 
are  selected  and  supported  solely  for  their  in- 
trinsic ability  and  nobility  of  soul,  instead  of 
for  the  places  they  will  confer  on  their  party, 
we  shall  begin  t©  seek  out  our  Cincinnatus  and 
Aratus,  and  the  premium  for  demagogism 
will  be  lost.  But  we  have  statesmen  among 
us  who  must  see  all  these  evils,  and  doubtless 
they  will  arrest  them  in  time.  We  are  paying 
too  high  a  price  for  our  freedom  to  have  it 
stolen  from  us  in  future  by  unscrupulous 
political  gamesters,  who  would  sacrifice  a  val- 
uable principle  of  government  in  order  to 
secure  a  foreign  ajipointment." 

"  1  can  not  avoid  feeling  sceptical  of  the 
public  virtue,  when  seasons  of  prosj)erity  and 
great  wealth  succeed  these  years  of  trial ;  and 
of  late,  in  casting  the  Iioroscope  of  our  young 
Confederacy,  I  hafe  frequently  recalled  that 
fine  passage  in  Montagu's  'Reflections  on  the 
Rise  and  Fall  of  Republics:'  '  Greece,  once  the 
nurse  of  arts  and  sciences,  the  fruitful  mother 
of  philosophers,  law -givers,  and  heroes,  now 
lies  prostrate  under  the  iron  yoke  of  ignorance 

and   barbarism Carthage,   once 

the  mighty  sovereign  of  the  ocean,  and  the 
centre  of  universal  commerce,  which  poured 
the  riches  of  all  nations  into  her  lap,  now 
puzzles  the  inquisitive  traveller  in  his  re- 
searches atjter  even  the  vestiges  of  her  ruins. 
And  Rome,  the  misti-ess  of  the 
universe,  which  once  contained  whatever  was 
esteemed  great  or  brilliant  in  human  nat«re, 
is  now  sunk  into  the  ignoble  seat  of  whatever 

is  esteemed   mean   and   infamous 

Should  Faction  again  predominate  and  succeed 
in  its  destructive  views,  and  the  dastardly 
maxims  of  luxury  and  effeminacy  universally 

I )rcvail  amongst  us,  ....  such, too,  will 
>e  the  fate  of  Britain  ;'  and  I  may  add  of  the 
Confederacy — for  where  arc  the  safeguards  of 
its  public  purity  ?" 

Electra  had  finished  the  bandages,  and  was 
walking  slowly  before  the  windows,  and,  with- 
out looking  up  from  the  lint,  which  she  was 
tying  into  small  packages,  Irene  answered  : 

"  The  safeguards  will  be  found  in  the  moth- 
ers, wives,  and  sisters  of  our  land." 

"Ah!  but  their  hands  arc  tied;  and  they 
walk  but  a  short,  narrow  path,  from  hearth- 
stone   to  threshold,  and  back  again.     They 


have,  I  know,  tverj'  inclination  to  exert  a  re- 
straining influence,  but  no  power  to  utilize  it. 
Sometimes  I  almost  fear  that  the  fabled  Norse 
Jlitf/naroh  is  darkening  over  this  cotitincnt. 
The  monsters,  Midgard- Serpent,  Fenris,  and 
all,  have  certainly  been  unloosed  at  the 
North." 

','  Electra,  though  we  arc  very  properly  de- 
barred from  the  '  tented  field,'  I  have  entire 
confidence  that  the  cause  of  our  country  may 
be  advanced,  and  its  good  promoted,  througli 
the  agency  of  its  daughters ;  for,  out  of  the 
dim  historic  past  come  words  of  encourage- 
ment. Have  you  forgotten  that,  when  S])arta 
forsook  the  stern  and  sublime  fiimplicity  other 
ancient  manners,  Kin^j  Agis  found  himself 
unable  to  accomplish  his  scheme  of  redeeming 
his  degenerate  country  from  avarice  and  cor- 
ruption, until  the  ladies  of  Sparta  gave  their 
consent  and  support  to  the  plan  of  reform  ? 
Southern  women  have  no  desire  to  usurp  leg- 
islative ruins ;  their  approj)riate  work  consists 
in  moulding  the  manners  and  morals  of  the 
nation  ;  in  checking  the  wild  excesses  of  fash- 
ionable life,  and  the  dangerous  spirit  of  ex- 
travagance ;  of  reckless  expenditure  in  dress, 
furniture,  and  equipage,  which  threatened  ru- 
inous results  before  the  declaration  of  hostili- 
ties. Noble  wives,  who  properly  appreciate 
the  responsibility  of  their  position,  should 
sternly  rebuke  and  frown  down  the  disgrace- 
ful idea,  which  seems  to  be  gainir.g  ground 
and  favor  in  our  cities,  that  married  women 
may,  with  impunity,  seek  attentions  and  ad- 
miration abroad.  IVIarried  belles  and  married 
beaux  are  not  harmless,  nor  should  they  be 
tolerated  in  really  good  society.  Women  who 
so  far  forget  their  duties  to  their  homes  and 
husbands,  and  the  respect  due  to  public  opin- 
ion, as  to  habitually  seek  for  happiness  in  the 
mad  whirl  of  so-called  fashionable  life,  ignor- 
ing household  obligations,  should  be  driven 
from  well-bred,  refined  circles,  to  hide  their 
degradation  at  the  firesides  they  have  dis- 
graced. That*  wives  should  constantly  endeav- 
or to  cultivate  social  graces,  and  render  them- 
selves as  fascinating  as  possible,  I  hold  their 
sacred  duty  ;  but  beauty  should  be  preserved, 
and  accomplishments  perfected,  to  bind  their 
husband's  h«arts  more  closely,  to  make  their 
homes  attractive,  instead  of  being  constantly 
paraded  before  the  world  for  the  unholy  pur- 
pose of  securing  the  attentions  and  adulation 
of  other  gentlemen.  I  do  not  desire  to  see 
married  women  recluses;  on  the  contrary,  I 
believe  that  society  has  imperative  claims  upon 
them,  which  should  be  promptly  met,  and 
faithfully  and  gracefully  discharged.  But 
those  degraded  wives,  who  are  never  seen  with 
their  husbands  when  tht-y  can  avoid  it — who 
are  never  happy  unless  riding  or  walking  with 
Btrangerf,  or  receivine  their  attentions  at  thea- 
tres, concerts,  or  parties — are  a  disgrace  iff  the 
nation,  which  they  are  gradually  demoralizing 
and  corrupting.     From  the  infiuence  of  these 


164 


IIACARIJL. 


few  deluded  weak  libels  on  our  sex,  may  God 
prct^erve  our  n^c  and  country  !  They  are  ut- 
terly unworthy  the  noble  work  wliich  calls 
loudly  to  every  true  Southern  woman.  States- 
men are  trained  up  around  the  mother's  arm- 
cbair,  and  she  can  imbue  the  boy  with  lofty 
Rentiments,  and  inspire  him  with  aims  which, 
years  henre,  shall  lead  him  in  congressional 
halls  to  adhere  to  principles,  to  advance  the 
Truth  —  tlioujih,  thereby,  votes  for  the  next 
election  fall  away,  like  stricken  leaves  in 
autumn.  What  time  has  the  married  bolle  for 
this  holy  hearthstone  mi><sion  V  The  con.scien- 
tious,  devoted,  and  patriotic  Christian  woman 
of  a  nation  are  the  safeguards  of  its  liberties 
and  purity." 

"  All  ]ierfectly  true,  and  very  encouraging 
in  the  abstract;  but,  Irene,  how  many  women 
do  you  suppose  sit  down  and  ponder  their  in- 
dividual responsibility  V" 

"  Electra,  my  friend,  are  you  sure  that  you 
do  V  Your  profession  will  give  you  vast  influ- 
eiK-e  in  forming  public  taste,  and  I  hope  much 
from  its  judicious  use.  Be  careful  that  you 
select  only  the  highest,  purest  ty()es  to  offer 
to  your  countrymen  and  women,  when  Peace 
enables  us  to  turn  our  attention  to  the  great 
work  of  building  up  a  noble  school  of  Southern 
Art.  We  want  no  feeble,  sickly  sentimentality, 
nor  yet  the  sombre  austerity  which  seems  to 
pervaile  your  mind,  judging  from  the  works 
you  have  shown  me." 

A  slight  (juiver  crossed  the  mobile  features 
of  the  artist  as  she  bit  her  full  lip,  and  asked : 

"  Wiiat  would  you  pronounce  the  distin- 
guishing characteristic  of  my  works  ?  I  saw, 
yesterday,  that  you  were  not  fully  satisfied." 

"  A  morbid  melancholy,  which  you  seem  to 
have  fostered  tenderly,  instead  of  crushing 
vigorously,  A  disposition  to  dwell  upon  the 
stern  and  gloomy  aspects  of  the  physical 
world,  and  to  '  *ensify  and  reproduce  abnor- 
mal and  unhapp^  ohases  of  character.  Your 
breezy,  sunshiny,  j  'vous  moods  you  have  kept 
under  lock  and  key  while  in  your  studio." 

"You  are  right;  but  I  merely  dipped  my 
brush  in  the  colors  of  my  own  life,  and  if  my 
work  ib  gray,  and  sad,  and  shadowy,  it  is  no 
fault  of  mine.  One  who  sits  at  her  easel, 
listening  ever  to 

"Thn  low  rootslcpi  of  oRcb  coming  III,"' 

should  be  pardoned  if  her  canvas  clows  not 
with  gala  occasions,  and  radiant  faces  that 
have  never  looked  beyond  the  glittering  con- 
fines of  Aladdin's  palace.  Remember,  the 
'  lines  '  did  not  fall  to  me  '  in  pleasant  places,' 
and  it  is  not  strange  that  I  sometimes  paint 
desert,  barren  scenes,  without  grapes  of  Eshcol 
or  Tokay.     Irene, 

"...        LoiiK  grooii  Uayi, 
Worn  bare  of  graKs  :iii(J  sunsliine — long  calm  nighU 
I'luni  vliich  llic  Bilken  hIcuJ)n  were  fretted  out — 
Bo  witnt!.ss  for  me,  witli  uo  amnteur'a 
Jr^ovorent  La.it(<  and  buiy  idleuosa 
1  've  Bet  wj'SBlf  to  Art  1" 


*'  I  admit  thff  truth  of  your  criticism,  and  I 
have  struggled  against  the  spirit  which  hovers 
with  clouding  wings  over  all  that  I  do ;  but 
the  shadow  has  not  lifted — God  knows  wheth- 
er it  ever  will.  Do  you  recollect,  among  those 
fine  illustrations  of  Poe's  works  which  we  ex- 
amined yesterday,  the  dim  spectral  head  and 
sable  pinions  brooding  mournfully  over  *  The 
City  in  the  SeaV*  Ah  I  its  darkening  coun- 
terpart flits  over  me.  You  have  finished  your 
work ;  come  to  my  room  for  a  few  minutes." 

They  went  up  stain-^  together  ;  and  as  Elec- 
tra unlocked  and  bent  over  a  large  scjuarc 
trunk,  her  companion  noticed  a  pecufiar  curl 
about  the  lines  of  the  mouth,  and  a  heavy 
scowl  on  the  broad  brow. 

"  I  want  to  show  you  the  only  bright,  shin- 
ing face  I  ever  painted." 

She  unwrapped  an  oval  portrait,  placed  it 
on  the  mantle-piece,  and,  stepping  back,  fixed 
her  g'azo  on  Irene.  She  saw  a  tremor  cross 
the  cpiiet  mouth,  and  for  some  seconds  the  sail 
eyes  dwelt  upon  the  picture  as  if  fascinated. 

"  It  must  have  been  a  macnifiient  portrait 
of  your  cousin,  years  ago;  but  he  has  changed 
materially  since  it  was  painted.  II«  looks 
much  older,  sterner,  now." 

"  Would  you  have  recognized  it  under  any 
circumstances  V" 

*'  Yes — anywhere ;  if  I  had  stumbled  over 
it  in   the  dusty   crypts  of  Lu.xor,   or  the  icy  . 
wastes  of  Siberia.     1  hare  never  seen  but  one 
head  that  resembled  that,  or  eyes  that  were 
in  any  degree  comparable." 

"  Irene,  I  value  this  portrait  above  every- 
thing elso  save  the  original ;  and,  as  I  may  be 
called  to  pass  through  various  perils,  I  want 
you  to  takt!   care  of  it  for  me  until  I   come 

back    to    W .     It   is    a   prc<-ious   trust, 

which  I  would  be  willing  to  leave  in  no  hands 
but  yours." 

"  Tou  forget  that,  before  long,  I,  too,  shall 
go  to  Virginia." 

"  Then  pack  it  away  carefully  among  your 
old  family  pictures,  where  it  will  be  secure.  I 
left  my  large  and  best  paintings  in  Italy,  with 
aunt  Uutli,  who  promised  to  preserve  and 
send  tiicm  to  mo  as  soon  as  the  blockade 
should  be  raised." 

"  What  are  Mr.  Young's  views  concerning 
this  war  ?" 

"  He  utterly  abhors  the  party  who  inau- 
gurated it,  and  the  principles  upon  which  it 
is  waged.  Says  he  will  not  return  to  Ameri- 
ca, at  least  for  the  present ;  and  as  soon  as 
he  can  convert  his  property  into  money,  in- 
tends to  move  to  the  South.  He  opposed  and 
regretted  Secession  until  he  saw  the  spirit  of 
the  Lincoln  dynasty,  and  from  that  time  he 
acknowledged  that  all  hope  of  Union  or  re- 
construction was  lost.  Have  you  heard  any- 
thing from  Harvey  since  the  troubles  be- 
gan V" 

"  It  is  more  than  a  year  since  I  received  a 
line  from  him.     He  was  then  still  in  the  West, 


MACARIA. 


165 


but  made  no  allusion  to  the  condition  of  the 
fountvy." 

"Irene,  I  hope  to  see  Russell  soon.  You 
were  once  dear  friends ;  have  >  ou  any  mes- 
sage for  him  —  any  word  of  kind  remem- 
brance?" 

One  of  Irene's  hands  glided  to  her  side,  but 
she  answered,  compose<lly  : 

"  He  knows  that  ho  always  has  my  best 
wishes  ;  but  will  expect  no  message." 

On  the  following  day  Electra  started  to 
Richmond,  taking  with  her  a  largo  supply  of 

hospital  stores,  which  the  ladies  of  W 

had  contributed. 

Eric  hud  proposed  to  his  niece  the  expe- 
diency of  selling  the  Hill,  and  becoming  an 
inmate  of  his  snug,  tasteful,  bachelor  home ;  but 
she  firmly  refused  to  consent  to  this  plan  ; 
said  that  she  would  spend  her  life  in  the  house 
of  her  birth ;  and  it  was  finally  arranged  that 
her  uncle  should  reserve  such  of  the  furniture 
as  he  valued  particularly,  and  offer  the  residue 
for  sale,  with  the  pretty  cottage,  to  which  he 
was  warmly  attached.  During  the  remainder 
of  autumn  Irene  was  constantly  engaged  in 
superintending  work  for  the  soldiers,  in  pro- 
viding for  several  poor  families  in  whom  she 
was  nuich  interested,  and  in  frequent  visits  to 
the  plantation,  where  she  found  more  than 
enough  to  occupy  her  mind  ;  and  Eric  often 
wondered  at  the  admirabl«  system  and  punc- 
tuality she  displayed — at  the  grave  composure 
with  which  she  discharged  her  daily  duties, 
and  the  invariable  reticence  she  observed 
with  regard  to  her  past  life. 


CHAPTER  XXXHL 

"Did  you  ring,  Mas'  Eric  ?" 

"  Yes.     Has  Irene  come  home  ?" 

"  Not  yet,  sir." 

"  Bring  some  more  wood." 

Owing  to  the  scarcity  of  coal,  thegrate  had 
been  rcmoveil,  and  massive  brass  andirons  sub- 
stituted. John  piled  them  with  oak  wood, 
swept  the  hearth,  and  retired.  It  was  a  cold 
evening;  there  had  been  sleet  the  night 
before  ;  the  treei  were  glittering  with  icicles  ; 
but  in  the  afternoon  the  sky  cleared,  and  a 
sharp  north-wester  promised  good  leather. 
Eric  drew  the  sofa  nearer  the  blazing  fire,  and 
laid  himself  down  to  rest — waiting  impatiently 
for  the  return  of  his  niece,  who  had  been 
absent  since  dinner.  The  library  looked 
cheerful,  comfortable,  luxurious.  Irene's  pret- 
ty work  -basket  sat  on  the  littl»mosaic  table, 
close  to  the  hearth  ;  and  by  its  side  lay  a  vol- 
ume of  Tennyson  open  at  "  Locksley  Hall," 
with  a  halC-finished  clove  which  she  had  been 
knitting  that  morning  resting  on  the  page. 
Upon  the  low  mantle-piece  stood  two  ruby- 
c()lored  bulb  -  glasses  containing  purple  hya- 
cinths in  full  bloom;  between  them  a  fluted 


crystal  vase  of  perfect  white  camellias  from  the 
green-house ;  and  in  a  rich  bohemian  goblet 
three  early  golden  croeuses  looked  out  irom  a 
mass  of  geranium  leaves.  Bronze  buyts  of 
Kepler,  Herschel,  and  La  Place  crowned  the. 
heavy  carved  bookcases;  the  soft  silvery 
glow  of  the  lamp  fell  upon  the  form  of  the 
cripple,  wrapped  in  a  warm  plaid  dressing- 
gown,  and  showed  the  thin,  sharply-cut  visage 
of  Paragon,  who  had  curled  himself  lazily  on 
the  velvet  rug.  The  room  was  very  still,  save 
the  sound  of  the  crackling  fire  and  the  chirp- 
ing of  the  canary,  whose  cage  had  been  placed 
on  one  of  the  broad  window-sills.  Alter  a 
time,  the  door  opened  .and  the  mistress  came  in. 

"  Irene  !  you  must  be  nearly  frozen.  What 
kept  you  out  so  late?"- 

"  I  had  more  than  usual  to  attend  to  at  the 
As^'lnm  this  afternoon." 

"  What  was  the  matter?" 

"  We  have  a  new  Matron,  and  I  was  particu- 
larly anxious  that  she  should  start  right  in  on« 
or  two  respects.  I  waited,  too,  in  order  to  see 
the  children  at  supper,  and  satisfy  myself  about 
the  cooking." 

"  How  many  orphans  are  there  in  the  Asy- 
lum ?" 

"  Thirty-four.  I  admitted  two  this  evening — 
children  of  one  of  our  soldiers,  who  died  from 
a  wound  received  at  Leesburg." 

"  Poor  little  things !  I  am  afraid  you  will  find 
numbers  of  similar  instances  before  this  war 
is  at  an  end." 

'•  We  will  try  to  find  room  for  all  such  cases. 
The  building  will  accommodate  one  hundred." 

"  You  must  be  very  cold ;  I  will  make  John 
bring  you  a  glass  of  wine." 

"  Ko,  sir ;  I  do  not  need  it.  My  shawl  was 
thick  and  warm." 

Resting  his  elbow  on  the  silken  cushions, 
her  uncle  leaned  forward  so  as  to  see  her 
countenance  distinctly.  She  had  put  out  one. 
hand  on  the  shining  head  of  her  dog,  who  now 
sat  clo.se  to  her  chair,  gazing  solemnly  into  tha 
red  coals;  and  her  posture,  as  she  rested  far 
back  against  the  morocco  lining,  betokened 
weariness.  By  contrast  with  the  thick  folds 
of  her  bombazine  dress  the  face  gleamed  sin- 
gularly white,  and  the  curling  brown  lashes 
made  fringy  shadows  on  the  polished  cheeks. 

"  Irene." 

She  turned  her  head  slightly,  and  raised  her 
eyes. 

"  Did  you  receive  a  letter  which  I  sent  to 
your  room  ?"  J 

"  Yes,  sir.     It  was  from  Dr.  Arnold."  \ 

"  He  has  established  himself  in  Richmond." 

"  Yes,  sir;  his  recent  attack  of  riieumatisra 
uufilted  him  for  service  in  the  field." 

•'  I  had  a  letter  from  Colonel  Aubrey  to-day. 
He  wants  to  buy  my  house." 

She  made  no  comment,  and  her  eyes  droop- 
ed again  to  the  perusal  of  the  strange  shapes 
which  danced  and  flickered  on  the  burnished 
andirons. 


166 


MACARIA. 


"  What  use  do  you  suppose  he  haS  for  it  ?" 

"  I  cannot  ima;;inc,  unlesa  he  intends  it  as  a 
home  for  Electra." 

"  What  a  witch  you  are.  at  guessinp;  that  is 
exactly  iL  He  says,  in  this  letter,  that  he  may 
not  survive  the  war,  and  wishes  to  liave  the 
assurance  that  his  cousin  is  conifortahly  pro- 
Tided  for  bofore  he  goes  into  another  battle. 
Ilis  olTer  is  liberal,  and  I  shall  accept  it." 

"  Well,  I  am  glad  she  will  own  it — for  I  hare 
•ften  heard  her  speak  of  those  old  poplar  trees 
in  the  front  yard.  She  has  always  admired 
the  place." 

"  I  trust  Aubrey  will  come  ba«k  safely, 
marry  some  woman  worthy  of  his  heart  and 
intellect,  and  live  there  happily  himself.  Do 
you  believe  the  current  report  that  he  is  en- 
gaged to  Salome?" 

*'  No,  sir. 

"  Why  not  ?  She  is  certainly  a  brilliant 
girl,  and  an  undoubted  beauty." 

"  Such  a  temperament  as  hers  would  scarce- 
ly suit  him,  I  think." 

"  But  people  often  select  their  opposites." 

"  And  for  that  reason  I  suspect  that  she 
would  not  make  him  liappy.  ^^■  hat  a  glowing 
beauty  she  is?  As  I  went  to  the  Asylum  I 
saw  her  riding  with  some  gentlemen,  and  I 
felt  as  if  I  could  warm  my  fingers  by  holding 
them  near  her  burning  cheeks.  Such  com- 
plexions as  hers  are  very  rare  at  the  South." 

"  I  shoulil  not  wonder  if  Russell  married 
her,  after  all." 

lie  hoped  for  some  change  of  countenance 
implying  concern,  but  no  shadow  hovered  over 
the  lair  face.  There  was  no  uneasy  movement 
of  the  dimpled  hand  which  lay  on  Paragon's 
head,  nor  could  he  detect  the  faintest  indica- 
tion of  interest.  At  this  juncture  the  tea 
bell  summoned  them  to  the  dining-room,  and 
slie  allowed  her  uncle  no  opportunity'  of  re- 
newing the  conversation.  When  the  meal 
was  concluded,  and  they  had  returned  to  the 
library,  Irene,  drew  her  table  and  basket  near 
the  lamp,  and  resumed  her  knitting.  The 
invalid  frowned,  and  asked,  impatiently: 

"  Can't  you  buy  as  many  of  those  coarse 
things  as  you  want,  without  toiling  night  and 
day?' 

"  In  the  first  place,  I  do  not  toil ;  knitting  is 
purely  mechanical,  very  easy,  and  I  like  it. 
In  the  second  j)lacc,  I  can  not  buy  them,  and 
our  max  need  them  when  they  are  standing 
guard.  It  is  cold  work  holding  a  musket  in 
th«!  o'j)en  air,  such  weather  as  this." 

lie  looked  annoyed,  and  dived  deeper  among 
his  cushions. 

"  Don't  you  feel  as  well  as  usual  this  evening, 
uncle  Erie  V" 

"Oh!  I  am  well  enough  —  but  I  hate  the 
everlasting  motion  of  those  steel  needles." 

She  rolled  up  the  glov«,  put  it  in  her  basket, 
and  rose. 

"  Shall  I  read  to  you  ?  Or,  how  would  you 
like  a  game  of  chess  ?" 


"  I  do  not  expect  you  to  humor  my  whims. 
Above  all  things,  my  child,  I  dread  the  thought 
of  beceming  troublesome  to  you." 

"  You  can  never  be  that,  uncle  Erie  ;  and  I 
shall  always  be  glad  if  you  will  tell  me  how  I 
can  make  your  time  pass  more  pleivsantly.  I 
know  this  house  must  seem  gloomy  enough  at 
best.  Let  us  try  a  game  of  chess ;  we  have 
not  played  since  you  came  from  Europe." 

She  brought  the  board,  and  they  sat  down  to 
the  most  quiet  and  absorbing  of  all  games. 
Both  played  well,  and  when  Eric  was  finally 
van<piished,  he  was  surprised  to  find,  from  the 
han(is  of  the  clock,  that  the  game  had  lasted 
nearly  two  hours.  As  she  carefully  rej)laccd 
the  ivory  combatants  in  their  box,  Irene  said  : 

"  Uncle,  you  know  that  I  have  long  desired 
and  intended  to  go  to  Richmond,  but  various 
circumstanqes  combined  to  keep  me  at  home. 
I  felt  that  I  had  duties  here  which  must  first  be 
discharged;  now  the  time  has  come  when  I 
can  accomplish  my  long-cherished  plan.  Dr. 
Arnold  has  taken  charge  of  the  hospital  in 
Richmond    which    was   established    with    the 

money  we  sent  from  W for  the  relief 

of  our  regiments.  Mrs.  Campbell  is  about  to 
be  installed  as  Matron,  and  I  have  to-day 
decided  to  join  them.  In  his  l^etter  received 
this  afternoon  he  orders  me  not  to  come,  but  I 
know  that  he  will  give  me  a  ward  when  he 
finds  me  at  his  elbow.  I  am  aware  that  you 
havd  always  opposed  this  project,  but  I  hope, 
sir,  that  you  will  waive  your  objections,  and  go 
on  with  me  next  week." 

"It  is  a  strange  and  unreasonable  freak, 
which,  I  must  say,  I  do  not  approve  of  There 
are  plenty  of  nurses  to  be  hired,  who  have 
more  experieni-e,  and  are  every  way  far  more 
suitable  for  such  positions." 

"  Uncle,  the  men  "in  our  armies  arc  not 
hired  to  fight  our  battles ;  and  the  least  the 
women  of  the  land  can  do  is  to  nurse  them 
when  sick  or  wounded.  The  call  is  impera- 
tive. Mothers  and  wives  are,  in  most  in- 
stances, kept  at  home;  but  I  have  nothing  to 
bind  me  here.  I  have  no  ties  to  prevent  me  from 
giving  my  services  in  the  only  way  in  which  I 
can  aid  the  cause  for  which  my  father  died. 
I  feci  it  a  sacred  duty  ;  and,  uiule  Eric,  it  is 
useless  to  argue  the  matter.  I  am  determined 
to  go  at  once.     Will  you  accompany  me  V" 

"  You  will  kill  yourself." 

"  I  could  not  die  in  a  better  cause." 

"  Is  life  so  worthless,  that  you  would  rashly 
throw  it  away  ?" 

"  By  no  mi!Hns.  I  am  able  to  endure  what 
I  undertake." 

"  Does  not  one  querulous  invalid  cripple 
BUiTiciently  exei'cise  your  patience  ?" 

"  No,  sir.  Beside,  I  can  take  care  of  you  in 
Richmond,  as  well  as  of  others,  who  need 
me  much  more." 

"  What  do  you  propose  to  do  with  the 
house,  meantime  V" 

"I  shall  send  the  horses  to  the  plantation, 


MACARIA. 


1C7 


ami  take  Andrew  with  me;  he  is  an  admirable 
nurse.  Martlia,  also,  whom  I  have  tested  on 
-geveral  occasions,  can  assist  me  greatly  in  the 
hospital.  The  other  servants  I  shall  leave 
here.  John  and  Nellie  will  keep  things  in 
order.  I  have  endeavored  to  foresee  and  re- 
move all  obstacles  to  my  departure." 

"  Ah !  but  you  have  been  so  delicately 
nurtured,  and  the  burden  you  would  take 
upon  yourself  is  so  onerous." 

»'  I  have  counted  the  cost." 

She  laid  her  hand  frently  on  his  whiten- 
ing hair,  and  added,  pleadinj^ly  : 

"  Do  not  oppose  me,  uni-lc  Eric.  I  want 
your  sanction  in  all  that  I  do.  There  arc  only 
two  of  us  left ;  go  with  nic  as  my  adviser — pro- 
tector. I  could  not  be  happy  if  you  were 
not  with  me." 

His  eyes  filled  instantly ;  and,  drawing  her 
close  to  him^he  exclaimed,  tremulously  : 

"  ISly  dear  Irene  !  there  is  nothing  I  would 
not  do  to  make  you  happy.  Happy,  I  fear 
you  never  will  be.  Ah  !  don't  smilu  and  con- 
tradict me  ;  I  know  the  dilference  between 
happiness  and  resignation.  Patience,  uncom- 
plaining endurance,  never  yet  stole  the  gar- 
ments of  Joy.  1  will  go  with  you  to  Virginia, 
or  anvwhcre  else  that  you  wish." 

"  Thank  you,  uncle  Eric.  I  will  try  to 
make  you  forget  the  comforts  of  home,  and 
give  you  no  reason  to  regret  that  you  sacrificed 
your  wishes  and  judgment  to  mine.  I  must' 
not  keep  you  up  any  later." 

She  rang  for  Willis,  and,  taking  a  taper 
from  the  stand,  proceeded  to  liglit  the  small 
lamp  which  had  been  placed  in  readiness 
on  the  table.  With  its  use  her  uncle  had 
long  been  familiar. 

"  You,  surely,  are  not  going  up  to  that  ice- 
house such  a  night  as  this  ?  That  marble 
floor  will  freeze  you  !" 

"  I  shall  not  stay  'long.  It  is  the  first  cjear 
night  we  have  had  for  more  than  a  week,  and 
I  ("an  not  lose  such  an  opportunity.  The 
nebula  in  Orion  will  show  splendidly,  and, 

'Tho  I'loindn  rising;  tlirouicli  tlie  nu'llow  shade, 
(jlitter  like  a  Bwann  of  flre-flios   tangled   in  u  silver 
braid.'  " 

"  W^iiat  a  devotee  you  are  !  What  a  bigot 
you  would  have  been  five  hundred  years 
ago  !  What  a  tireless  RosicTuciau  you  would 
have  made  !  What  an  indefatigable  traveller 
after  mythic  Sangraal !  You  very  often  re- 
mind me  of  an  aphorism  of  Emergon  :  '  No 
man  is  (juite  sane  ;  each  has  a  vein  of  folly 
in  his  composition,  a  slight  determination  of 
blood  to  the  head,  to  make  sure  of  holding  him 
hard  to  some  one  point  Vhich  Mature  has 
taken  to  heart.' " 

"  I  am  no  more  insane  than  Emerson  is  or- 
thodfJK  or  infallible,  and  a  mild  form  of 
Sabeism  ought  to  be  tolerated  even  in  this 
age,  when  it  is  used  as  a  glittering  ladder  to 
God,  to  purity,  and  to  peace.  Here  I  am  con- 
tinually oppressed  with  a  sense  of  desolation  ; 


as  I  walk  these  silent  rooms.  Father'  !  Fa- 
ther! is  the  cry  of  my  lonely  soul.  But  yon- 
der I  forget  my  loss.  In  the  observatory  mj- 
griefs  slip  from  me,  as  did  Christian's  burdi  ii. 
I  remember  only  the  immeasurable  heights 
and  depths,  the  infinitude,  the  grandeur,  and 
the  glory  of  the  universe — and  there,  as  no- 
where else,  I  can  bow  mj'self  down,  and  say, 
humbly  and  truly,  '  Not  my  will,  oh,  God  1 
but  thine!*  Good-night,  uncle  Eric.  Willis, 
shut  Paragon  in  his  house  before  you  go  to 
sleep." 

She  wrapped  a  heavy  blai-k  shawl  around 
her  shoulders,  and,  taking  the  lamp,  went  up 
to  the  observatory. 

The  Army  of  the  Potomac  had  fillen  back 
to  Yorktown  when  Irene  reached  Richmond  ; 
and  the  preparations  which  were  being  made 
for  the  reception  of  the  wounded  gave  molau- 
choly  premonition  of  impending  battles. 

Ur.  Arnold  had  beeu^  intrusted  with  tlic 
supervision  of  several  hospitals,  but  gave 
special  attention  to  one  /established  with 
the    funds    contributed    by    the    citizens    of 

W — ,  and  thither  Irene  repaired  on  the 

day  of  her  arrival. 

In  reply  to  her  inquiries,  she  was  directed  to 
a  small  room,  and  found  the  physician  seated 
at  a  table,  examining  a  bundle  of  papers.  lit: 
saw  only  a  form  darkening  the  door- way, 
and,  without  lookyig  up,  called  out,  gruffly  : 

"  Well,  wliat  is  it '?     What  do  you  want '?"' 

"  A  word  of  welcome." 

He  sprang  to  his  feet  instantly,  holding  out 
both  hands. 

"  Dear  child  !  Queen  !  Goil  bless  you  ! 
How  are  you  ?  Pale  as  a  cloud,  and  thin  as  u 
shadow.  What  the  deuce  are  you  doing  here  '? 
I  ordered  you  to  stay  at  home,  did  n't  I  ?" 

He  had  caught  her  hands  eagerly  to  his  lips, 
and  held  them  like  a  vice. 

"  Home  was  too  dreary.  I  wanted  to  see 
you,  to  be  with  you  once  more,  to  work  In  re 
in  3'.our  sight,  by  your  direction.  Don't  s.  olii 
and  growl  at  me  for  coming.  Give  me  a  mor- 
sel of  affection  ;  oh,  Doctor!  I  am  hungry! 
hungry  and  desolate." 

She  lifted  her  sorrow  -  stricken  face  to  his, 

I  and  felt  his  tears  fall  thick  on  her  silky  hair. 

I      "  Dear  child  !     I  knew  how  it  would  be.     I 

'  wanted  to  go  to  you,  but  I  could  not.     Irene, 

!  don't  look  so  dreary  and  hopeless;  it  Avring.s 

I  my  heart  to  see  that  expression  on  your  mouth. 

!  You  know  I  am  glad  to  have  you,  my  treaMuo, 

my  beloved  child.     You  know  that  you  arc  tlic 

j  very  light  of  my  life.     Growl  at  you.  Queen  ! 

I  will  sec  myself  hanged  first !     Sit  down  hero 

by  mc.     Where  is  Erie  ?" 

"  He  was  much  fatigued,  and  I  left  him  at 

the  hotel." 

j      "  You  have  been  ill  a  long  time,  Irene,  an  1 

have  kept  it  from  me.     That  was  not  right  ; 

you  should  have  been  honest  in  your  letters. 

I  A  pretty  figure  you  will  cut  nursing  sick  folks  ! 

.  Work  in  my  sight,  indeed  !     If  you  say  work 


1«8 


MACARIA. 


to  me  again,  I  will  clap  you  into  a  lunatic- 
asvlum,  and  keep  you  there  till  tlio  war  is  over. 
Turn  your  fa<'e  to  tlic  li;.'!it." 

"  1  am  well  enough  in  body ;  it  is  my  mind 
only  that  is  ill  at  ease  ;  my  heart  only  that  is 
sick — son-ly  sick.  Here  I  shall  find  employ- 
ment, and,  I  trust,  partial  for-xiMlulncM.  Put 
me  to  work  at  once  ;  that  will  be  my  best  medi- 
cine." 
"  "And  you  really  missed  me,  Queen  ?" 

"  Yes,  inoxprepsibly  ;  I  felt  my  need  of  you 

ntinually.  You  must  know  how  I  cling  to 
you  now." 

A;iain  he  drew  her  little  hands  to  his  jrramte 
mouth,  and  seemed  to  muse  for  a  moment. 

"  Doctor,  how  is  Klectra  ?" 

"Very  well — that  is,  as  well  as  such  an 
anomalous,  volcanic  torriil  chara('ter  ou^ht  to 
be.  At  fir:«t  she  puzzled  me  (and  that,  is  an 
insult  I  find  it  hard  to  for;;ive),  but  finally  I 
found  the  clew.  She  is  indefatipjable  and  as- 
tonishin<Tly  faithful  as  a  nurse;  does  all  her  duty, 
and  more,  which  is  saying  a  pood  deal — for 
I  am  a  hard  task -master.  Are  n't  you  afraid 
that  I  will  work  you  more  unmercifully  than  a 
Yankee  factory -child,  or  a  Cornwall  miner? 
See  here.  Queen ;  what  do  you  suppose 
brought  Electra  to  Richmond  V" 

"A  desire  to  render  some  service  to  the  sick 
and  suffering,  and  also  to  be  comparatively 
near  her  cousin." 

"  Precisely ;  only  the  last  should  be  first, 
and  the  first  last.  Russell  is  a  perverse,  un- 
grateful dog." 

As  he  expected,  she  glanced  up  at  him,  but 
'refrained  from  comment. 

"  Yes,  Irene — he  is  a  soulless  scamp.  Here 
is  his  cousin  entirely  devoted  to  him,  loving 
him  above  everything  else  in  this  world,  and 
yet  he  has  not  even  paid  her  a  visit,  except  in 
passing  through  to  Yorktown  with  his  com- 
mand. He  might  be  a  happy  man,  if  lie  would 
but  open  his  eyes  and  see  what  is  as  plain  as 
the  nose  on  my  fa(;e — which,  you  vaiut  admit, 
rcfjuires  no  microscope.  She  is  a  gifted 
woman,  and  would  suit  him  exactly — even 
better  than  my  salamander,  Salome." 

A  startled,  incredulous  expression  came  into 
Irene's  large  eyes,  and  gradually  a  look  of 
keen  pain  settled  on  her  features. 

"Aha!  did  that  idea  never  occur  to  you 
tie  fore  ?" 

*;  Never,  sir;  and  you  must  be  mistaken." 

"  Why,  child  ?  The  fact  is  patent.  You 
women  profess  to  be  so  (juick  -  wittcd,  too,  in 
such  matters — I  am  amazed  at  your  obtuseness. 
She  idolizes  Aubrey." 

"  It  is  scarcely  strange  that  she  should ;  she 
has  no  other  relatives  near  her,  and  it  is  nat- 
ural that  she  should  love  her  cousin." 

"  I  tell  you  I  know  what  I  say  !  .she  will 
never  love  anybody  else  as  she  loves  Aubrey. 
Hcsidci  what  is  it  to  you  whether  he  marries 
her  or  not  V" 


"  I  feel  attached  to  her,  and  want  to  see  h«r 
happy." 

"As  Russell's  wife?" 

"  No,  sir.  The  marriage  of  cousins  wafl 
alwavs  revolting  to  me." 

She  dill  not  flinch  from  his  glittering  gray 
eye,  and  her  grieved  look  deepened. 

"  Is  she  here  ?     Can  I  see  her  ?" 

"  She  is  not  in  this  building,  but  I  will 
inform  her  of  your  arrival.  I  have  become 
much  interested  in  her.  She  is  a  brilliant, 
erratic  creature,  and  has  a  soul  !  which  can 
not  safi'lv  be  predicated  of  all  the  sex,  nowa- 
day.    Where  are  yo<i  goina  ?" 

"  Back  to  uncle  Eric.  Will  you  put  me  in 
the  same  hospital  with  Klectra  and  Mrs. 
Campbell  ?" 

"I  will  put  you  in  a  strait -jacket !  I 
promise  you  that." 

Klectra  was  agree.ably  surprised  at  the  un- 
usual warmth  witli  which  Irene  reccivi-d  her, 
some  hours  later  ;  but  little  suspected  why  the 
lips  lingered  in  their  pressure  of  hers,  or 
understood  the  wistful  tenderness  of  the  eyei 
which  dwelt  so  fondly  on  her  face.  The  icy 
wall  of  reserve  had  sud<lenly  melted,  as  if  in 
the  breath  of  an  August  noon,  and  dripped 
silently  down  among  things  long  jiast.  Rus- 
st^H's  name  was  casually  mentioned  more  than 
once,  anil  Klectra  fell  asleep  that  night  wholly 
unconscious  that  the  torn  and  crumpled  pages 
of  her  heart  had  been  thoroughly  jierused  by 
the  woman  from  whom  she  w;us  most  anxioui 
to  conceal  the  truth. 

Hiving  enLraged  a  suite  of  rooms  near  the 
hospital,  a  few  <lays  sulliced  for  preliminary 
arr'ang'-ments,  ami  Irene  was  iiiistallcd  in  a 
ward  of  the  building  tn  which  she  had  request- 
ed Dr.  Aniolil  to  appoint  her. 

Thus,  by  diflVrent,  by  devious  thorny  paths, 
two  .sorrow in ir  women  emerged  upon  the  broad 
highway  of  Duty,  and,  clasping  hands,  press- 
eil  forward  to  the  divinely- appointed  goal  — 
Womanly  Usefulness. 

Only  those  who  have  faithfull}*  ministered 
in  a  ho.<j)ital,  can  fully  appreciate  the  onerous 
nature  of  the  buriens  thus  assumed — can 
realize  the  crushing  anxiety,  the  sleepless 
apprehension,  the  ceaseless  tension  of  brain 
and  nerve,  the  gnawing  intolerable  sickness 
and  aching  of  heart  over  suffcririgs  which 
no  human  skill  can  assuage  ;  and  the  silent 
blisterinj^  tears  which  are  shed  over  corpses  of 
men  whose  families  kneel  in  far  distant  homes, 
praying  fiod's  mercy  on  ilear  ones  lying  at 
that  inoineiit  stark  and  cold  on  hospital  cota 
with  strangers'  hands  about  the  loved  limbs. 
Ah  !  within  these  mournful  penetralia  ai"e  jier- 
]ietually  recnrriii;j  scenes  of  wot%  of  resigna- 
tion, and  of  sutilime  endurance,  transi-ending 
in  patlios  aught  that  fiction  ever  painted  ;  and 
as  the  Nation's  martyrs  drop  swiftly  down  into 
nameless  billowy  graves,  that  fret  the  ([uiet 
green  surface  of  our  broad   and  sunny  land, 


MACARIA. 


169 


the  bleeding  tendrils  of  a  Nation'o  sympathy 
trail  athwart  the  rude  head-stones,  and  from 
stern  lips  come  the  prophecy : 

" Let  t)iom  slumber! 

No  IiiiiK  of  Eg.Tpt  in  n  pyi-amiil 

Is  safer  from  oiilivioii,  tlimiKli  be  number 

Full  SfVpnty  crremcnts  fur  a  roverliii. 

These  Dciid  be  .seeds  of  life,  and  sh.ill  encumber 

The  Slid  heart  of  tlic  l;ind  until  it  loose 

The  (dammy  cbnia  and  lot  out  the  spring  growth 

In  beatific  i;reen  throupch  every  bruise. 

BIiicli  grave  our  nationality  has  pieced 

ny  its  own  maicstic  breadth,  and  fortified 

And  pinin-d  it  deeper  to  the  soil.     Forlorn 

Of  thanks,  be  therefore,  no  one  of  these  graven!" 

Day  by  day,  week  after  -week,  those  tireless 
women  -  watcliers  walked  the  painful  round 
from  patient  to  patient,  administering  food 
and  medicine  to  diseased  bodies,  and  words  of 
hope  and  encouragement  to  souls,  who  shrank 
r.ot  from  the  glare,  and  roar,  and  carnage  of 
battle — hut  shivered  and  cowered  before  the 
darling  images  which  deathless  memory  called 
from  the  peaceful,  happy  Past-  It  was  not 
wonderful  that  the  home-sick  sufferers  regard- 
ed them  with  emotions  which  trenched  on 
adoration,  or  that  often,  when  the  pale  thin 
faces  liglitcil  with  a  smile  of  joy  at  their  ap- 
proach, Irene  and  Electra  felt  that  they  had  a 
priceless  reward. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

"Mother,  I  did  not  flinch  !  They  shot  the 
flag  out  of  my  hand,  and  I  bathed  it  with  my 
blood  when  I  full  on  it.  Here  is  the  staff" — I 
held  on  to  the  very  last.  Don't  you  see  it, 
mother,  all  smeared  and  clotted  with  blood  ?" 

Having  with  <lelirium,  a  light-haired,  slender 
boy  of  seventeen  summers  struggled  to  rise 
Irom  his  cot,  and,  grasping  a  corner  of  the 
calico  (juilt,  stretched  it  toward  Irtr:ie,  who 
.sat  a  few  yards  off,  spreading  a  blister.  Lay- 
ing aside  the  ointment,  she  approached,  and 
took  the  extended  hand. 

"  Yc.s,  Willie,  I  gee  it;  and  I  know  you  did 
your  duty  I  will  take  care  of  the  staff  for 
you;  now  go  to  sleep." 

"  I  can't  sleep;  the  din  of  the  cannon  wakes 
,mc.  I  want  to  go  hon>e.  Mother,  why  don't 
you  carry  me  to  my  own  room,  my  own  bed, 
where  I  can  see  Harry,  and  iiear  Jessie  sing  V 
Help  me  to  my  feet,  mother ;  I  promised  to 
make  a  new  flag- staff." 

His  fair  smooth  checks  were  flushed  with 
fever  from  the  wound  received  at  the  battle 
of  Seven  Pines,  ami  his  beautiful  dilated  eves 
gleamed  unnaturally,  as  he  gazed  appealintrly 
at  tlie  tall  form  standiu'j  at  his  pillow — an  ele- 
gant, (jueenly  form,  clad  in  mourninfj  vest- 
ments, with  spotless  linen  cuffs  and  collar  and 
white  mu>lin  aj»ron. 

She  pla(!ed  hei'  pearly  hand  on  hit  Lot  brow, 
and  bent  tenderly  over  him. 

"Not   to-night,    Willie.      When   you   are 


stronger  I  will  carry  you  to  Harry  and  Jessie. 
Now  you  must  try  to  sleep." 

"  You  '11  stay  by  me,  mother,  if  I  shut  my 
eyes  V" 

"  Yes.     I  will  not  leave  you." 

He' smiled  contentedly;  and  while  her  cold 
fintrers  wandered  soothingly  over  his  forehead, 
the  long  lashes  fell  u|)on  his  cheeks,  and  in 
delirious  dreaming  he  muttered  on  of  the  con- 
flict and  incidents  of  carnage.  From  his  en- 
trance into  the  hospital  he  had  fancied  her  his 
mother,  and  she  fostered  the  only  illusion 
which  could  gild  the  fleeting  hours  of  his 
young  life.  His  deeds  of  daring  had  won 
honorable  mention  from  the  brigade  com- 
mander, and  Irene  had  written  to  his  mother, 
in  a  distant  state,  detailing  the  circumstances, 
and  urging  her  to  hasten  to  him.  But  to-night 
the  symptoms  showed  thct,  ere  the  dawning  of 
another  day,  the  brave  spirit  would  desert  its 
boyish  prison. 

"  Give  me  some  water,  please." 

The  feeble  voice  came  from  an  adjoining 
cot,  where  lay  an  emaciated,  wrinkled  old 
man,  with  gray  hair  straying  over  the  pillows 
that  propped  him  into  an  aImo;7t  upright  pos- 
ture. She  put  the  glass  to  his  trembling  lips, 
and,  as  he  drained  it,  tears  trickled  down  the 
furrowed  face. 

"  What  distresses  you,  Mr.  Wheeler  ?  Tell 
me,  won't  you  ?" 

"  I  am  about  to  die,  and  I  long  so  for  the 
face  of  my  wife.  If  I  could  have  seen  her 
again,  it  would  not  seem  so  hard.  It  if  easy 
to  die  on  the  battle-field,  and  I  expected  that 
when  I  left  home;  but  to  sicken  and  die  in  a 
hospital,  away  from  my  family  and  my  com- 
rades— oh  !  this  is  bitter  !  bitter  !  You  hare 
been  kind  to  me— ^as  gentle  and  good  as  mv 
own  daughter  Mary  could  have  been — and,  if 
you  please,  I  would  like  to  send  soiiic  mes- 
sages to  my  people  at  home.  You  have  Avritten 
for  me  once — will  you  do  it  again — and  for  the 
last  time  V" 

"  Certainly,  just  as  often  as  you  like." 

She  gave  him  a  powerful  stimulant ;  brought 
her  port-folio  to  the  side  of  th«  cot,  and  wrote 
at  his  dictation. 

"  Tell  my  wife  I  had  hoped  and  prayed  to 
be  spared  to  get  home  once  more,  but  it  w»i 
n't  the  will  of  God,  and  I  trust  she  will  try  to 
bear  up  like  a  Christian.  I  am  not  afraid  to 
die;  I  have  done  my  duty  to  my  God  and  to 
my  country ;  and  though  my  heart  clings  to 
my  dear  ones,  way  down  in  Mississippi,  I  know 
I  am  going  home  to  rest.  Tell  her  she  must 
not  grieve  for  our  brave  boy,  Joe;  he  died  as  a 
Confederate  soldier  should.  I  buried  him 
where  he  fell,  and  wc  will  soon  meet  where 
battles  anil  separation  are  unknown.  I  want 
Mary  an<l  her  children  to  live  at  home,  and  if 
Edward  lives  through  the  war,  he  will  jirovide 
for  all.  I  want  my  watch  given  to  my  oldest 
grand.Hon,  Calvin,  as  soon  as  he  '\3  of  age.  I 
send  my  love  to  all,  and  especially  to  my  poor 


170 


MACARIA. 


•ister  Emily.     I  send  a  kiss  to  Mary  and  her  ; 
thiMron,  and  to  my  dear,  dear  wife,  whom  I  . 
hope  to  meet  soon  in  heaven.     Miy  God  bless  ' 
and    preserve    them   all,   for  Ji-sus    Christ's 
»ake." 

His  voice  was  weak  and  unsteady,  and  his 
breathin<r  rnpiil,  short,  labored.  i 

As    she    folded   the.    letter    and   cIosimI    the  : 
port -folio    the   surpeon    entered,    and    went 
slowly    from    patient    to    patient  —  speaking 
gently    to    siome,  and    A-elmi;    cautiously    at: 
the    wrists    of   others    who    slept.      At    the  \ 
two    last    cots    he    lingered    long,    and    his 
benevolent   fare   saddened    as    he  noted   the 
change  that  a  few  hours  hail  wrought.  ' 

"  Dr.  Whitmore,  I  have  been  giving  Mr. 
Whet  liT  strong  egiinog  this  afternoon.'* 

"  All  perfectly  rigiit,  and  let  him  have 
the  annnoni^  as  often  as  his  pulse  indicates 
need  of  it."  i 

He  sighed  heavily,  and  she  followed  him  in-  ; 
to  the  ^lassage.  i 

"  After    all,   Miss    Huntingdon,   we    shall 
lose  them   both.     I  had  such  strong  hope  of 
young  Walton  yesterday  ;    but  it  is  of  no  use  ; 
he  will  not  live  till  morning.     Poor  fellow  !  i 
It  is  too  bad  !  too  bad  !"  i 

"  Can  we  do  nothing  more  ?'"  j 

"Nothing.     I  have    racked    my   brain,  ex- 
hausted tny  remedie.":.     Wiieeler,  too,  is  sink-  ' 
ing  very  rapidly,  and  you  must  stimulate  him  I 
constantly.     Tiiese  tyidioid  -  pneumonia  eases  j 
are    disheartening,     liy    the    way,    you    are 
over  -  ta.xiug   your    strength.     Let  me    send 
Martha   down  here  to  relieve  you  to-night. 
For  forty -eight   hours  you   have  not  closed 
your  eyes.     Take  some  rest  to  -  night ;  your 
presence  can  do  no  good  now." 

"  I  prefer  to  remain  ;  how  are  the  cases  up-  j 
•tairsV" 

"Doing   finely,   except   Moorhouse ;  and    Ii 
have  strong  faith  in  his  constitution.     I  .shall  sit  i 
up  with  liim  t(j- night,  to  watch  the  effect  of 
the   veratrum.     God    bless   you,  ^liss    Irene ! 
you  liave  a  melancholy  watch  before  you."       > 

As  she  returned  to  her  post,  Andrew   came 
in   with   a    pitcher  of  ice -water;  and   after 
creeping  across  the   room   several   times,  ar-  i 
ranging  tlie  covering  on  the  cots,  he  unrolled  i 
his   blankets  on    the    floor,   and   laid   himself! 
down    to  sleep,  within  reach  of   liis  mistress' 
hand. 

It  was  a  long,  low,  rather    narrow    roouj,  i 
lined  witli  rows  of  cots,  which  stretched  on  j 
either  side  to  the  door,  now  left  ojien  to  admit  i 
free  circulation  of  air.     A  muflled  clock  tick- 
ed on  the    mantle-piece.     Two   soldiers,  who  i 
ha<l  been   permitted   to  visit  their  sick   com- 
rades,  slumbered    heavily  —  one    witli    head, 
droope(l   on    his   chest,  the   other  with    chair 
tilted  against  the   window-facing,  and    dark- 
bearded   face  thrown   back.     Tlie  cjuivering 
flame  of  the  candle  gleamed  fitfully  along  the 
line  of  features — some  youthful,  almost  chihl- 
ish  ;  others  bearing  the  impress  of  accumula- 


ted years  ;  some  crimsoned  with  fever,  others 
wan  and  glistening  with  the  dew  of  exhaus- 
tion ;  here  a  forehea<l  bent  and  lowering,  as 
in  fancy  the  sleeper  lived  over  the  clash  and 
shock  of  battle  ;  and  there  a  tremulous  smile, 
lighting  the  stern  maidy  mouth,  as  the 
dreamer  heanl  again  the  welcome  bay  of 
watch-dog  on  the  door-step  at  home,  and  saw 
once  more  the  lored  forms  of  wife  and 
children  springing  joyfully  from  the  cheery 
fireside,  to  meet  his  outstretched  arms.  A 
few  tossed  restlessly,  and  frequent  incoherent 
mutterings  wandered,  waif-like,  up  and  down 
the  room,  sometimes  rousing  Amlrew,  who 
once  or  twice  lifted  his  head  to  listen,  and 
then  sank  back  to  slumber. 

Before  a  small  pine  table,  where  stood 
numerous  vials,  Irene  ilrew  her  chair,  ami, 
leaning  forward,  opened  her  poiket- bible, 
and  rested  her  head  on  Iier  hand. 

She  heard  tlie  painful  breathing  of  the  ofd 
man,  who  hail  fallen  into  a  lieavy  stupor,  and 
as  she  sat  reading  her  hand  stole  to  Ins  feeble 
pulse,  pausing  to  count  its  fluttering.  Twice 
she  rose,  adnunistered  the  stimulants,  and  re- 
newed the  bottles  at  his  teet,  the  mustard  on  his 
wasted  wrists.  Taking  the  skeleton  hand 
in  hers,  she  chafed  it  vigorously ;  but  sixty- 
three  years  had  worn  away  the  bonds  of  llesh, 
and  the  soul  was  near  its  exodus.  Sorrow- 
fully she  watched  the  sharpening  features, 
which  five  weeks  of  nursing  had  rentlered 
singularly  familiar;  and  as  she  thought  of  the 
aged  wife  to  be  widowed,  and  the  daughter 
orphaned,  memories  of  her  own  father's 
kisses  stirred  the  great  deeps  of  her  spirit, 
and  tears  gathered  in  her  calm  eyes. 

"Ha!  ha!  ha!  They  will  never  get  to 
Richmond!  Johnston  is  down  there  —  and 
Longstreet  is  there  —  and  our  regiment  is 
there  !  Johnston  is  between  them  and  llich- 
mond — ha !  ha !" 

The  -Tounded  bay  started  up,  twirling  one 
arm    as  -f  in  the  act  of  cheering,  anil  then 
fell    back,   groaning    with    pain    which    th 
violent  elFoi't  cost  him. 

Irene  stoo;ted  over  him,  and,  .softly  un- 
buttoning Iiis  .shirt-collar,  reni'jved  the  hot 
bloody  cloths  from  his  lacerated  shoulder, 
and  re|)laced  them  with  fresh  folds  of  linen, 
cold  an!  drippin.L'.  She  poured  out  a  glass  of 
water  ami  lilted  his  head,  but  he  frowned,  and 
exclaimed : 

"  I   won't  have  it  in  a  tumbler.     Mother, 

make   Harry  bring  me  a  gourdful  fresh  from 

j  the  spring.     I  say — send  Huddi.-  lor  some." 

I       She  humored  the  whim,  walked  out  of  the 

room,  and  i>aused  in  the  passage.     As  she  did 

I  so,  a   dark    form   gliiled   unperceiveil   into   a 

dim  corner,   and    when    she    re-entered  the 

I  room    with    the  gourd  of    water  the    figure 

I  passed  through   the   tall -door  out  into    the 

night. 

"  Here    is    your  gourd,  Willie,   fresh  and, 
cold." 


MACARI^L 


171 


He  swallowed  the  draught  eagerly,  and  liis 
handsome  face  wore  a  touching  expression 
as  he  •^miled,  and  whispered  : 

"  Hush  !  Jessie  is  singing  under  the  old 
magnolia  down  by  the  spring.  Listen  ! 
'  Fairy  Biille  !'  We  used  to  sing  that  in  camp  ; 
but  nobody  sings  like  Jessie.  So  sweet !  so 
sweet !" 

He  set.  hi3  teeth  hard,  and  shuddered 
violently;  and  talcing  his  fingers  in  hers,  she 
found  them  clenched. 

"  Andrew  !" 

"  Here  I  am,  Miss  Irene." 

"  Go  up -stairs  and  ask  the  doctor  to  come 
here." 

The  surgeon  came  promptly. 

"  I  am  afraid  he  is  going  into  convtilsions. 
What  sliall  I  do  for  him  ?" 

"Yes  —  just  what  I  have  been  trying  to 
guard  against.  I  fear  nolhing  will  do  any 
good ;  hut  you  might  try  that  mixture  which 
acted  like  a  charm  on  Lcavans." 

"  Hc're  is  the  bottle ;  how  much  sliall  I  give  ?" 

"  A  spoonful  every  half-hour  while  the  con- 
vulsions last.  If  he  can  swallow  it,  it  can't 
possibly  do  any  harm,  and  may  ease  his  suffer- 
ing. Poor  fellow !  may  the  vengeance  of  a 
righteous  God  seek  out  his  murderer  !  I  would 
stay  here  with  you,  Miss  Huntingdon,  if  I 
could  render  any  service.  As  it  is,  I  am  more 
needed  up-stairs." 

The  paroxysms  were  short,  but  so  severe 
that  occasionally  she  rccjuired  Andrew's  assist- 
ance to  hold  the  sufferer  on  his  cot,  and  as 
they  grew  less  frequent,  she  saw  that  his 
strength  failed  rapidly.  Finally  he  fell  into  a 
troubled  sleep,  with  one  hand  clutching  her 
arm. 

Nearly  an  hour  passed  thus,  and  the  nurse 
knelt  softly  beside  her  charge,  and  prayed  long 
and  fervently  that  the  soul  of  the  young  mar- 
tyr might  find  its  home  with  God,  and  that  his 
far-oil' mourning  mother-might  be  strengthened 
to  bear  this  heavy  burden  oi  woe.  There,  in 
the  shadow  of  Death,  the  woman's  spirit  soared 
far  from  sin  and  sorrow,  from  the  stormy  shores 
of  Time,  and  Iield  holy  communion  with  her 
Maker — pleading  for  aid,  for  grace,  and  resig- 
nation through  the  remaining  yean  of  her 
eartlily  pilgrimage. 

As  she  knelt  with  her  face  up-turned,  a  soft 
warm  palm  wa.s  laid  upon  her  forejiead,  and  a 
low,  sweet,  manly  voice  pronounced  in  bene- 
diction : 

"  May  the  Lord  bless  you,  Irene,  and  abun- 
dantly answer  all  your  prayers." 

Slie  rose  ijuickly,  and  put  out  her  disengaged 
hand. 

"  Oh,  Harvey  !  dear  friend  !  Thank  God, 
I  have  found  you  once  more." 

He  lifted  the  candle  and  held  it  near  her 
face,  scanning  tlie  sculptured  features;  then 
stooped  and  kissed  her  white  cheek. 

"  I  felt  tliat  I  could  not  be  mistaken.  I 
heard  our  soldiers  blessing  a  pale  woman  in 


black,  with  large  eyes  bluer  than  summer  skifes, 
and  hair  that  shone  like  rays  of  a  setting-sun  ; 
and  I  knew  the  silent,  gentle,  tireless  watcher, 
before  they  told  her  name.  For  many  years 
I  have  prayed  that  you  might  becom<'  an  in- 
strument of  good  to  your  fellow-creatures,  and 
to-night  I  rejoice  to  find  you,  at  last,  an  earnest 
coworker." 

"  Where  have  you  been  this  lon<;  time, 
Harvey  ?  And  how  is  it  that  you  wear  a 
Confederate  uniform?" 

"  I  am  chaplain  in  a  Texas  regiment,  and 
have  been  with  the  army  from  the  beginning 
of  these  days  of  blood.     At  first  it  was  a  pain- 
ful step  for  me ;  my  affections,  my  associations, 
the   hallowed  reminiscences  of  my  boyhood, 
all  linked  my  heart  with  New  York.     My  rela- 
tives and  friends  were  theic,  and  I  knew  not 
how  many  of  them  I  might  meet  among  the 
war -wolves  that  hung  in  hungry  herds  along 
the  borders  of  the  South.     Moreover,  I  loved 
and  revered  the  Union — had  been  taught  to 
regard  it  as  the  synonyme  of  national  pros- 
perity.    Secession  I  opposed  and  regretted  at 
the  time  as  unwise ;  but  to  the  dogma  of  con- 
solidated government  I  could  yield  no  obedi- 
ence;  and  when  every  sacred  constitutional 
barrier  had  been  swept  away  by  Lincoln — when 
habeas  coi-pus  was  abolished,  and  freedom  of 
speech  and  press  denied — when  the  Washing-^ 
ton   conclave   essayed  to  coerc«  frcem('n,.to 
'  crush  Secession '  through  the  agency  of  sword 
and  cannon — then  I  swore  allegiance  to  the 
'  Seven  States,'  where  all  of  republican  liberty 
remained.     The  fierce  and  unholy  spirit  of  the 
North  appalled  and  disgusted  me.     I  felt  that 
I  could  have  no  connection  with  a  people  who 
madly  plunged  into  fratricidal  war,  who  goad- 
ed their  soldiers  to  rapine,  to  the  massacre  of 
women  and  children,  and  who  left  no  means 
I  untried  to  inflict  upon  the  Cotton- States  all 
[  the  unparalleled  horrors  of  a  servile  insurrec- 
I  tion.     The  billows  of  innocent   blood   which 
their  fury  shed,  surged  between  us,  as  an  ever- 
I  lasting  gulf.     As  Ruth  to  Naomi,  so  I  turned 
fondly  to  the  fair  free  land  of  my  adoption  and 
j  her  devoted  sons:    'Thy  people  shall  be  my 
\  people,  and  thy  God  my  God.     Where  thou 
:  diest  I  will  die,  and  there  will  I  be  buried.' 
Though  I  look  upon  my  mother's  face  no  more 
,  in  this  world,  and  for  ever  resign  the  consola- 
tion of  my  father's  blessing  and    my  sister's 
i  smile,  I  shall  never  .see  New  York  again.    My 
i  step  has  passed  away  from  the  homestead — 
I  my   sha<low   from    the    dear  old  hearthstone. 
j  Henceforth  my  home  is  with  the  South;  my 
hopes    and    destiny   hers ;    her   sorrows   and 
strupiiles  mine." 
'       liis  white,  scholarly  hands*  were  sunburnt 
now;  his  bronzed  comple.xion,  an<l  long,  tin- 
trimmed  hair  and  beard  gave  a  grim,  grizzled 
j  aspect  to  the  noble  face;  and  the  worn  and 
i  faded  uniform  showed   an  acquaintance  with 
the  positive  hardships  and  exposure  of  an  ac- 
tive campaign. 


172 


MACARIA. 


•*I  expected  nothinc;  less  from  you,  my' 
brother.  I  felt  that  our  holy  eause  must  claim 
rour  sympatliy  and  su[)port;  an-l  I  am  prouil, 
and  inexpresiihiy  ha]>py,  to  fiml  you  in  our  j 
matclJi'S5  and  di-votf(l  army.  You  wore  dear 
to  me  before;  but,  ah,  Harvey!  how  much 
deaor  now  in  th»-se  dark  days  of  trial,  which 
you  have  voluntarily  chosen  to  share,  wiUi  a 
youu'^,  brave,  Rtrn^ijling  Xifion  !*'  i 

His  eyes  dwelt  Upon  her  face  a.''  she  looked 
jrladly  at  him,  and  .over  her  wavin;;  hair  liis 
lian<ls  passed  tenderly,  as  they  had  <lone  long; 
years  Ix-fore,  when  she  was  an  invalid  in  his  ' 
father's  hoUse.  • 

"  You  have  Found  your  work,  and  learned 
contentment  in  usefuhiess,  since  that  Spring 
day  on  which  we  talked  together,  in  the  shadow  , 
<^r  tiie  wild-i'herry  tree.  Irene,  the  peaceful 
lo.jk  of  your  childhood  has  come  back  to  your 
face." 

"Yes,  thanks  to  your  puidanee,  T  have  found 
eniploymeiu  for  head  and  hands  ;  but  my  heart 
is  not  concpiered.  I  have  yet  to  learn  patient, 
perfect  re.signation."  I 

"  You  ought  to  be  grateful  and  happy  for 
the  pood  you  are  accomplisliiiig  every  day.     I 
liear  much  of  the  influence  you  exert  here; 
your  name  i.s  constantly  on  the  lips  of  many  a  ; 
convalescent;  and  in  the  dead  of  niglit.  in  the  I 
deep  hush  of  camp,  I  have  listened  to  a  fervent,  | 
tearful  petition   ascending  to   the   Throne  of 
rjrace  from  an  elderly  man,  wlio  told  me  he 
had  not  prayed  since  his  childhood,  till  you 
knelt  beside  his  cot  hero  and   asked  Ood  to 
spare  his  life  to  his  country  and  his  family. 
Does  not  such  blessed  fruitage  content  you  ?" 

"  You  overrate  my  services.  I  try  to  do 
my  duty  ;  but  such  eases  as  these  two  before 
UB  discourage  me — bow  down  mv  heart." 

"  1  accept  the  estimate  of  those  of  your 
countrymen  over  whom  you  have  watchud, 
and  prayed,  and  toiled.  True,  it  is  very  mel- 
ancholy to  lose  any;  but,  in  suih  a  mass,  we 
must  not  expect  to  save  all.  With  my  face 
presseil  against  the  window-pane,  1  have  been 
watching  you  for  more  than  an  hour — ever 
since  Col.  Aubrey  came  out — and  I  know  all 
the  sadness  of  the  circumstances  that  surVound 
you  ;  how  painful  it  is  for  you  to  see  those  two 
men  die." 

"  Col.  Aubrey  ?     He  has  not  been  here." 

"  Yes  ;  I  passed  him  on  the  steps  ;  we  rode 
up  together  from  camp.  He  came  on  sj)ecial 
business,  and  returns  at  daylight;  but  I  shall 
remain  several  days,  and  hope  to  be  with  you 
as  much  as  the  nature  of  your  eiip;>g<'ments 

will   permit,     ^ubrey  is  from  W ;  you 

know  him,  of  course  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  know  him  " 

He  saw  a  shade  of  regret  drift  over  her 
countenance,  and  added: 

"  I  have  many  tilings  to  say  to  you,  and 
much  to  learn  concerning  your  past;  but  this 
is  not  the  tiiue  or  place  for  such  interchange 
of  thought  and  feelinjj.     To-morrow  we  will 


talk;  to-night  I  could  not  repress  my  impa- 
tience to  see  you,  though  but  for  a  lew 
moments." 

They  had  conversed  in  low,  smothered  tonej", 
and  now,  gently  unclasping  young  Walton's 
fingers,  which  slill  grasped  her  arm,  Iren« 
went  ba<k  to  the  old  man's  pillow  and  bent 
over  the  ghastly  face,  where  the  cIhII  of  death 
harl  already  srttled. 

"  Keel  how  thready  and  feeble  the  pylse  is; 
a  few  more  throbs,  and  the  heart  will  bo 
stilled.  It  is  hard,  hard  to  see  him  <lie.  atlcr 
all  my  care  and  watching.  Five  Ions;  weeks 
I  have  nursed  him,  ;»nd  now  this  is  the  end. 
Harvey,  pray  for  the  departing  soul,  that, 
thro.igh  Christ,  his  .salvation  may  be  sure." 

The  chaplain  bowed  his  head,  but  no  sound 
broke  the  sad  silence ;  and  some  niDments 
after  Irene  laid  her  ivory  fingers  on  the  lids, 
and  pressed  them  down  over  the  glazed  eyes. 
,"  He  is  at  rest.  »  Whoso'ver  bclievetli  in 
me  .shall  never  die,'  saith  the  Lord.  He  be- 
lieved, and  that  comforts  me.  I  have  t  tlked 
and  read  much  to  him  liuring  his  illness,  and 
found  that  he  had  no  fear  of  eternity.  An- 
other patriot  gone — another  soul  to  bear  wit  nesj 
In-fore  God  against  our  oppressors  and  murder- 
ers." 

She  drew  the  sheet  over  the  face  of  th« 
dead,  and  beckoning  to  the  two  soldiers  who 
now  stood  near,  silent  and  awe-struck,  they 
took  up  the  cot,  and  bore  it  into  a  small  room 
adjoining. 

"  All,  Irene  !  how  harrowing  such  fre([uent 
spectacles  must  be.  I  should  think  this  posi- 
tion would  be  almost  intolerable  to  one  of 
your  keen  synipathies."* 

"  How  harrowing,  only  God  knows." 

She  drew  a  chair  near  young  Walton,  and, 
seating  herself,  continued: 

"  It  wotihl  be  intolerable,  but  for  the  con- 
viction that  I  sometimes  save  lives— lives  pre- 
cious to  friends  and  country.  Hird  as  that 
case  may  seem,  this  is  sadder  still.  That  old 
man  had  but  few  years  Icil  at  best  ;  this  boy 
stands  on  the  verge  of  manhood,  with  the  fair 
green  meadows  of  life  stretching  dewy  and 
untrodden  before  him,  enamelled  with  hope, 
and  bininded  by  shining  peaks,  which  bis 
brave,  auiliitious  sjiiiit  panted  to  scale.  A 
mothers  pride  and  ^olace,  a  sister's  joy,  one  «{ 
a  Nation's  treasured  guardians,  stricken  down 
in  his  first  battle — bathing  his  country's  rid- 
dled banner  in  his  warm  young  blood.  How 
long — how  long  will  Almighty  God  williliold 
his  vengeance  from  the  wolfish  hordes  who 
are  baltening  upon  the  blood  of  freemen  ? 
Harvey,  if  there  bo  not  a  long  and  awful  re- 
tribution for  that  Cain-cursed  race  of  New 
England,  there  is  neither  justice  nor  truih  in 
higii  heaven.  I  have  become  strangely  at- 
tached to  this  l)oy.  He  mistakes  me  for  hit 
mother,  follows  me  eagerly  with  his  eyes,  (-lings 
to  my  dross,  fondles  my  hands.  Around  his 
neck  is   suspended   a   locket  containing  her 


MAC  ARIA. 


ITS 


miniature  ;  and  yesterday,  when  I  dressed  his 
Avouini,  he  felt  for  it — showed  ine  how  he 
kisje(l  it  before  going  into  battle — believing 
that  it  would  prove  a  talisman.  Wliat  harm 
could  befall,  with  his  mother's  face  over  his 
heart  V  Only  a  private  in  the  ranks.  No 
stars  and  bars  to  deck  liis  homespun  jacket — 
BO  ollii'ial  pomp  and  glittering  paraphernalia 
to  please  his  youthful  fancy — none  ot  the  gor- 
geous accessories  which  gild  the  'stern  profes- 
sion,' like  jewels  on  a  corpse — no  badge  of 
distinction,  save  his  ghastly  death  -  wound. 
The  tenderly  nurtured  darling  of  Southern 
parents,  cheert'ul  in  the  midst  of  unparalleled 
hardships,  content  with  meagre  rations,  which 
his  mgiocs  at  home  would  .scornfully  reject, 
gtanding  dreary  watch  in  snow  and  sleet  and 
rain,  with  memoiies  of  luxury  anil  fireside 
joys  tempting  him  from  his  gloomy,  solitary 
post — .springing  to  meet  the  columns  of  the  toe 
at  though  the  Nation's  fate  depended  upon  his 
individual  valor,  and  asking  but  a  grave  on 
the  soil  he  died  defending.  Only  a  private  in 
the  ranks!  Oh,  to  this  consecrated  legion, 
•tretching  like  a  wall  of  flesh  along  the  bor- 
ders of  our  land,  what  a  measureless  debt  we 
owe  1  When  Independence  is  obtained,  and 
white-robed  Peace  spreads  her  stainless  hands 
in  blessing  over  us,  let  history  proclaim,  and 
let  our  people  reverently  remember,  that  to 
the  uncomplaining  fortitude  and  sublime  de- 
votion ol  the  private  soldiers  of  the  Confeder- 
acy, not  less  than  to  the  genius  of  our 
generals  and  the  heroism  of  our  subordinate 
oflicers,  we  are  indebted  lor  Freedom. 

She  laid  her  head  close  to  the  bo3''s  mouth 
to  listen  to  his  low  breathing,  and  the  minister 
saw  her  tcai's  fall  on  his  pillow  and  gleam  on 
his  auburn  locks.  The  delirium  seemed  to 
have  given  place  to  the-dreamless  sleep  of  ex- 
haustion, and  folding  one  of  her  hands  around 
his  fingers,  with  the  other  she  softly  stroked 
the  silky  hair  from  his  fair  smooth  forehead. 

"  Irene,  will  my  presenc«  here  aid  or  com- 
fort you?     If  so,  1  will  remain  till  morning." 

"No;  you  can  do  no  good.  It  is  midnight 
now,  and  you  must  be  wearied  with  your  long 
ride.  You  can  not  help  me  here,  but  to-mor- 
row I  shall  want  you  to  go  with,  me  to  the 
cemetery.  I  wi»h  his  family  to  have  the  sad 
consolation  of  knowing  that  a  minister  knelt 
ftt  his  grave,  when  we  laid  the  youiig  patriot 
in  his  last  resting-place,  (ioo'l-by,  my  broth- 
er, till  then.  Electra  is  in  the  next  I'oom ;  will 
you  go  in  and  speak  to  her  i" 

"  No  ;  I  will  see  her  early  in  the  morning." 

lie  left  her  to  keep  alone  her  solemn 
vigil ;  and  through  the  remaining  hours  of  that 
starry  June  night  she  stirred  not  from  the 
narrow  cot — kept  her  fingers  on  the  sulferer's 
fleeting  pulse  —  her  eyes  on  his  whitening 
face.  About  three  o'clock  he  moaned,  strug- 
gled slightly,  and  looked  intently  at  her.  She 
gare  him  some  brandy,  and  found  that  he 
swallowed  with  great  difficulty. 


"  Willie,  are  you  in  pain  ?" 

"  Is  it  you,  mother — and  are  we  at  homo?" 
he  asked,  indistinctly. 

"  You  are  going  home,  Willie  ;  you  will 
soon  be  there." 

"  I  have  not  said  my  prayers  to-night. 
Mother,  hold  my  mu?ket  a  munutc." 

He  put  out  his  arm  as  if  to  consign  it  to  her 
care,  and  folded  his  hands  together. 

"  Our  Father,  who  art  in  Heaven,  hallowed 
be  thy  name ."  His  voice  sank  to  a  whis- 
per, inaudible  for  some  seconds ;  then  he 
paused,  as  if  confused  ;  a  troubled  look  crossed 
his  fcaturps,  the  hazelvyes  filkid,  and  the  hands 
fell  powerless  on  his  chest.  Laying  Inn"  hand 
on  his  brow,  Irene  slowly  repeated  a  favorite 
psalin  which  had  seemed  to  haunt  his  mind  two 
days  before — that  psalm  of  promise  :  "  The 
Lord  is  my  Shepherd ;  I  shall  not  want." 
Whether  he  understood  it  now  she  never 
knew,  but  his  fingers  crept  caressingly  to  her 
face,  feebly  stroking  her  cheek  while  sha 
spoke,  and  when  she  concluded  he  seemed 
tryinu;  to  recall  something. 

,    "Jessie  knows  it  all;  1  don't ."     Then 

iame,  indistinctly,  snatches  of  the  infant  prayer 
which  had  been  taught  him  at  his  truckle-bed 
in  the  nursery. 

After  a  short  silence  he  shivered,  and 
murmured  : 

'•  Corporal  of  the  guard !  post  number 
nine!  Mother,  it  is  cold  standing  guard 
to-night,  but  the  relief  will  soon  be  round. 
Standing  guard mother ." 

His  eyes  wandered  around  the  dim  room, 
then  slowly  closed,  as  he  fell  into  the  sleep  that 
knew  no  earthly  waking. 

A  sick  man  a  few  yards  off  asked  for  some 
water,  and  as  Irene  received  the  tumbler  from 
his  hand  he  said,  under  his  breath  : 

"  He  is  worse  to-night,  is  n't  he,  raa'm  ?" 

"  Y'es.  How  is  that  pain  in  your  side  ?  I 
must  put  a  blister  on  it  if  it  grows  more  .severe." 

"  It  does  not  trouble  me  as  much  as  it 
did  about  dark.     How  is  my  fever  V" 

"  Not  so  high  by  fifteen  beats.  Y''ou  will  be 
able  to  take  quinine  at  seven  o'clock." 

She  snuffed  the  candle  and  resumed  her 
seat,  and  again  silence  reigned —  silence 
broken  only  by  the  deep  breathing  of  the 
patients  and  the  sudden  jingle  of  the  vials  on 
the  table,  as  a  hungry  mouse  ran  among  them, 
to  nibble  at  the  open  jar  of  simple  cerate. 

The  air  grew  chilly  as  a  light  mist  gath- 
ered along  the  James,  and  finally  the  rumble 
of  wheels  on  the  paved  streets  tolil  that  people 
wen;  beginning  to  stir  in  the  sleeping  city. 

Slowly  a  half-hour  rolled  away  ;  Irene  could 
bandy  feel  the  faint  pulsations  at  Willie 
Walton's  wrist,  and  as  she  put  her  ear  to  hit 
lips  a  long,  last  shuddering  sigh  escaped  him — 
the  battle  of  life  was  ended.  Willie's  Relief 
had  come.  The  young  sentinel  passed  to  bis 
Eternal  Rest. 

"  The  i>ickal  •«  off  duty  for  eTor." 


174 


MAC  ARIA. 


Tears  dropped  on  the  still  face  as  the  nurse 
cut  several  loiks  of  curling  hair  that  clustered 
around  the  bovish  temples,  and  took  from  the 
motionless  heart  the  loved  picture  which  had 
been  so  often  and  so  tenderly  kissed  in  the 
fitftil  lipht  of  cauip-fires.  Irene  covered  the 
noble  head,  the  fair,  handsome  features,  with 
her  handkerchief,  and,  waking  Andrew, 
pointed  to  the  boily — left  her  own  ward,  and 
entered  one  beyond  the  passage. 

It  was  smaller,  but  similar  in  arrange- 
ment to  the  room  where  she  had  passed  tho 
night.  A  candle  was  sputtering  in  its  socket, 
and  the  cold,  misty,  wliite  dawn  stared  in  at 
the  eastern  window  upon  rows' of  cots  and 
uncpiiet,  muttering  sleepers.  There,  in  the 
centre  of  the  room,  witli  her  head  bowed  on 
the  table,  sat,  or  ratlicr  leaned,  Eiectra, 
slumbering  soundly,  with  her  scarlet  shs^wl 
gathered  about  her  slioulilers  —  her  watch 
grasped  in  one  hand,  and  the  other  holding 
a  volume  oj)en  at  "  lIisperid-yEgle." 

Irene  lilted  the  black  curls  that  partially 
veiled  the  flushed  cheek,  and  whispered: 

"  Electra,  wake  up  !    I  am  going  home." 

"  Is  it  liglit  ye.t,  out  of  doors?  Ah,  yes — I 
see  !  I  have  been  asleep  exactly  tifleen 
minut<'S — gave  the  last  dose  of  medicne  at 
four  o'clock.  Ilow  are  those  two  men  V  I  am 
almost  afraid  to  ask." 

'•D.-ad.  Willie  lived  till  daylight.  Both 
dead." 

"  Oh !  how  sad !  how  discouraging !  I 
went  to  your  door  twice  and  looked  in, 
but  once  you  were  praying,  and  the  last  time 
you  had  your  face  down  on  Willie's  pillow, 
and  as  I  could  do  nothing,  I  came  back. 
Dr.  Whitmore  told  me  they  would  die,  and  it 
only  made  me  sufler  to  look  at  what  I 
could  not  relieve.  I  am  thankful  my  cases 
are  all  doing  well ;  tlial  new  prescrij)t.ion  has 
acted  magically  on  Mr.  lladly  yonder,  who 
has  pneumonia.  Just  feel  his  skin  —  soft 
and  j)leasant  as  a  child's." 

"1  have  some  directions  to  leave  with 
Martha,  about  giving  quinine,  before  the  doc- 
tor comes  down,  and  then  I  shall  go  home. 
Are  you  ready  V" 

"  Yes.  I  have  a  singular  feeling  about  my 
temples,  and  an  oi)i)re.ssion  when  I  talk — 
should  n't  wonder  if  I  Jiave  caught  cold." 

"Klcctra,  did  you  see  Harvey  last  night  i('" 

*'  No.      Where  did  he  come  I'rom  ?" 

•'  II(^  is  chajjiain  in  a  regiment  near 
llichmond,  and  said  he  would  see  us  both  this 
morning.     Was  Ru.ssell  here  last  nigiit'r'" 

•'  Kussell  V  No.  Why  do  you  ask  'i  Is  he 
in  th*'  city  ?     Have  you  seen  him  V" 

She  ro.se  ([uickly,  laid  her  hand  on  Irene'.'', 
and  looked  searchingly  at  her. 

"  1  have  not  seen  him,  but  your  cousin 
Harvey  mentioned  that  Col.  Aubrey  came  up 
with  him,  on  some  very  important  errand,  and 
had  but  a  few  hours  to  remain.  I  will  get  my 
shawl,  and  join  you  in  live  minutes.     Electra, 


you  must  stay  at  home  and  rest  for  a  day 
or  two ;  you  are  feverish,  and  worn  out 
with  constant  watching." 


I  CHAPTER  XXXV. 

"  It  is  a  mercy  that  .<<he  is  deliriotis;  other- 
1  wise  her  unavoidable  excitement  and  an.\iety 
j  would  probably  provo  fatal.     She  is  very  ill,  of 
:  course;  but,  with  careful  nursing,  I  think  you 
have  little  to  apprehend.     Above  all  things, 
Irene,  sulfer  nobody  to   bolt  into  that  room 
with  the   news  —  keep  her   as  <juiet  as  pos- 
sible.     I   have   perfect  confidence   in   "W  hit- 
nioro's  skill;  he  will  do  all  that  I<ould,  though 
1  would   not  leave    her  if  1    did   not   I'eel  it 
'  my  duty  to  hurry  to  the  battle-field,     t^ueen, 
you  look  weary  ;  but  it  is  not  btrange,  alter  all 
that  you  have  jjassed  through." 
I      "  Doctor,  when  will  you  start  ?" 
I      "  In^twcnty  minutes." 

"  Has  any  intelligence  been  received  this 
'  morning?" 

"Nothing  but  confirmation  of  last  night's 

news.     Hill    holds   Mechanicsville,    and    ihu 

enemy  have  fallen  back  in   the  direction  of 

1  Powhite    Swamp.     A    general   advance    all 

I  along   our   lines  will   be    made  to-day,  and 

I  I  must  be  oil".     What  is  the  matter?     Surely 

I  you  arc  not  getting  frightened." 

}      "  Frightened — Dr.  Arnold  ?     No.     I  have 

I  no    fears    about    the    safety    of   Richmond ; 

!  defeat  is  not  written  in  Lee's  lexicon  ;  but  I 

;  shudder    in    view    of     the    precious    human 

hecatombs   to  be  immolated   on  yonder  hills 

'  belbre  McClellan  is  driven  back.     No  doubt 

of  victory  disijuiets  me,  but  the  thought  of  its 

awful  price." 

She  shaded  her  face,  and  shuddered. 
"  Cheer  uj),  child.     We  may  make  quicker 
work  of  il  lUan    you  seem  to  imagine.     Uut 
suppose    reverses   should   overtake    us,   what 
would  you  do  ?" 

"  I  shall  remain  here  ks  long  as  a  man 
or  woman  is  left  to  attend  to  the  wounded  ; 
and  if — which  (jlod  forbid  ! — our  army  should 
be  Ibricd  back  by  overwhelming  numbers,  I 
rejoice  to  know  tiiat  the  spirit  of  *  Edinburg 
Atler  Eldiidcii '  will  be  fouml  in  Richmond. 
Northern  banners  shall  never  Haunt  over  our 
capital,  tainting  tho  atmosphere  we  breathe ; 
in  such  dire  emergency  the  people  are  re- 
solved, and  we  will  chant  the  grand  words 
of  Aytoun,  as  we  gather  round  our  mag- 
nificent nalional  pyre:. 

•  'T  wore   belter  that  in  liorjr  tlame  tlie  root's  iiliciutd  thiiii. 

diT  down, 
Thnn  X.\\*X  tliu  Toot  of  foreigD  fo«  iboulJ  tranit>le  in  th« 

tiiwii ! 

Tliougli  tliv  rnnipnrts  ruck  beneath  lu,    and  the   walla 

go  cr;whing  d»wn, 
TliotiKb  t»e  ruix'  of  cunflogration  bellow  o'er  the  linking 

town ; 
Tlicro    il   Yst   one  place   of  shelter,  whore   the   fooman 

oaMU«t  cuuie, 


MACARIA. 


175 


Wlicic  tlip  summons  never  sounded,  of  tlio  trumpet  or  tbe 

ilniiii. 
There    sliall    wo    find    rest  and    refuge,  ■\V4th   oUr  denr 

(ic|i]utril  brave ; 
And  tlio  aslies  of  tUo  city  bo  our  universal  gravol' 

"  I  repeat  it,  Doctor — not  tbe  fate  of  Rich- 
mond troublos  me — for  I  have  not  a  shadow  of 
doubt  that  God  will  give  us  victory — but  the 
thought  of  the  lives  to  be  yielded  up  in  its  de- 
fence. As  a  nation,  vre  shall  rejoice  ;  but,  ah  ! 
the  desolation  hovering  over  thousands  of  hap- 
py houie-circles,  ready  to  swoop  down,  darken- 
ing peaceful  hearthstones  for  all  time.  What 
a  burden  of  wailing  woe  this  day  will  bear  to 
the  ears  of  a  pitying  God." 
•  "  True,  it  is  an  awful  reflection  ;  but  we  have 
counted  the  cost,  and  it  will  not  do  to  repine. 
Extermination,  rather  than  submission  to  their 
infamous  tyranny.  Hampden's  immortal 
motto  has  become  our  own  :  '  Vestigia  nulla 
relrorsum  .'"     But  1  must  go,  Queen.     I  wish 

you  were  safely  back  in  VV ,  away  from 

these  horrors  that  so  sicken  your  soul.  Child, 
take  care  of  yourself.  Have  you  anything 
more  to  say  ?     Talk  fast." 

"  I  directed  Andi'ew  to  give  Cyrus  a  small 
box  of  cordials,  which  1  received  yesterday 
from  home.     You  may  find  use  for  it." 

She  paused,  and  iier  whole  face  quivered 
as  she  laid  her  clasped  hands  on  his  arm. 

"  Well — what  is  it?  Dear  child,  what  moves 
you  so  V" 

"  Doctor,  promise  me  that  if  Colonel  Aubrey 
is  mortally  wounded  you  will  send  instantly 
for  me.     I  must  see  him  once  more."' 

Her  head  went  down  on  her  hands,  and  she 
trembled  as  white  asters  do  in  an  early  autumn 
gale.  Compassionately  the  old  man  drew  one 
arm  arou'.id  her. 

"  After   all,    then,  you  do  care  for  him — 
despite   your  life -long  reserve  and  apparent 
indiU'erence  ?    1  have  suspected  as  much,  sev- 
eral times,  but  that  imperturbable  sphinx-face 
of  yours   always   baflled  me.     My  child,  you 
need  not  droop  your  heail;  he  is  worthy  of  your 
love  ;  he  is  the  only  man  I  know  whom  I  would  \ 
gladly  see  you   marry.     Irene,  look  up — tell  '. 
me — did  Leonard   know  this?     Conscious  of, 
your  affection  for  Aubrey,  did  he  doom  you  to 
your  lonely  lot  ?"  , 

"  No.  My  father  died  in  ignorance  of  what 
would  have  pained  and  mortified  himieyond 
measure.  Knowing  him  ai  well  m  ^ou  do, 
can  you  suppose  that  I  would  ever  have  allow-  j 
e«l  him  to  sus[iect  the  truth  V  I  rc»lizeil  my  \ 
duty,  and  fulfilled  it;  that  is  the  only  consola- 
tion I  have  left.  It  never  caused  him  one 
throb  of  regret,  or  furnished  food  for  bitter 
reflection  ;  and  the  debt  of  respect  I  owe  to 
his  n:emory  ihall  be  as  faithfully  dinchargcd. 
If  Colonel  Aubrey  livei  to  enjoy  the  inde- 
pendenoe  for  which  he  is  fighting  —  if  he 
should  be  spared  to  become  a  useful,  valued  [ 
member  of  society — one  of  the  pure  and  able 
statesmen  whom  his  country  will  require  when 
these  dark  dayi  of  strife  are  ended — I  can 


be  content;  though  separated  from  him,  and 
watching  his  brilliant  career  afar  off.  But  if 
he  must  give  his  life  for  that  which  he  holds 
dearer  still,  I  ask  the  privilege  of  seeing  him 
again,  of  being  with  him  in  his  last  moments. 
Tliis  consolation  the  brave  spirit  of  my  father 
would  not  withhold  from  me,  were  communion 
allowed  between  living  and  dead ;  this  none 
can  have  the  right  to  deny  me." 

"  If  such  be  your  stern  and  melancholy 
resolution,  what  happiness  can  the  future  con- 
tain V" 

"  My  future  holds  the  hope  of  promoting 
God's  glory,  and  of  contributing,  as  far  as  one 
feeble  woman  can,  to  the  happineiis  and  weal 
of  her  fellow-creatures.  I  cheat  myself  with 
no  delusive  dreams;  I  know  that  my  way  is, 
and  ever  must  be,'  lonely  ;  but,  ])uttiiig  my 
trust  in  Ilim  who  never  yet  withheld  strength 
and  guidance  in  the  hour  of  need,  I  say  to 
myself" : 

'"0,  pusinaniinous  neart,  be  comforted — 
'  And  like  :i  cheerful  traveller,  tiikc  the  ro:nl, 
Siuging  beside  the  hvdgo.'" 

The  doctor  gathered  up  lier  hands  in  his, 
and  said,  coaxingly  : 

"May  I  tell  Aubrey  all  this?  it  will,  at 
least,  comfort  him  in  some  degree." 

"No;  you  must  tell  him  nothing.  I  know 
what  is  best  for  him,  and  for  me." 

"  Oh,  child  !  what  harm  could  come  of  it?" 
■  "  Ask  me  no  more;  but  give  me  the  promise 
to  send  a  mcisenger,  if  he  should  be  severely, 
dangerously  wounded." 

'•  I  promise  that  you  shall  know  all  as  early 
as  possible.  If  you  receive  no  tidings,  be- 
lieve that  he  is  uninjured.  As  yet,  his  regi- 
ment has  not  moved  forward,  but  I  know  not 
how  soon  it  may.  Heaven  preserve  you  !  my 
precious  child." 

He  pressed  a  kiss  on  the  drooped  head, 
and  left  her  to  resume  her  watch  in  the  dark- 
ened room  where  Electra  had  been  ill  with 
typhoid  -  fever  for  nearly  three  weeks.  It 
was  thought  that  she  contracted  the  disease 
in  the  crowded  hospital;  and  when  delirium 
ensued,  Irene  temporarily  relincjuished  her 
ward  to  other  nurses,  and  remained  at  the 
boarding-house,  in  attendance  on  her  friend. 
It  was  a  season  of  unexampled  anxiety,  yet 
all  was  singularly  quiet  in  the  beleaguered 
city.  Throughout  the  Confederacy  hushed 
expectancy  reigned.  Gallant  Vicksljurg's 
batteries  barred  the  Mississippi;  Beauregard 
and  Price,  lion-hcarte<l  idols  of  the  West,  held 
the  Federal  army  in  Corinth  at  bay ;  Stone- 
wall Jackson  —  synonyme  of  victory  —  after 
sweeping  like  a  whirlwind  through  the  Val- 
ley, and  scattering  the  columns  that  stealthi- 
ly crept  southward,  had  arrived  at  Richmond 
at  the  aj)poiiited  time.  A  greater  tiian  Scr- 
rurier,  at  a  grander  than  Castiglione,  he  gave 
the  signal  to  begin  ;  and  as  a  sheet  of  flame 
flashe^  along  the  sombre  forests  of  Cliifka- 
bomirly     the    nation     held   its     breath,     and 


176 


MACARIA. 


•wat'  hed  the  deatli-p^rapple  of  bannored  armies 
around  its  proutl  youii^  capital.  Tliaiik  (Jo<l  ! 
we  liad  no  cravens  there  to  jeopardize  our 
cause;  the  historii;  cyele  had  revolveil,  and 
heroic  a;;('s  dawned  again.  Neither  ancient, 
inedia*v:il,  nor  modern  lore  can  furnish  a 
parallel  tor  the  appaling  panorama  of  blood 
and  fire  which  stretched  from  Mechanicsville 
to  Westover — for  the  brilliant  Seven  Days 
conflict,  w^hich  converted  twenty-si.\  miles  of 
■wamp  and  forest  into  a  vast  necropolis. 

Duriiii:  Friday  the  wounded  camo  slowly 
in,  an<i  at  lour  in  the  afternoon  the  roar  of 
artillery  tol«l  tliat  the  Battle  of  Gaineii'  Mill 
was  raL'iii'^;  ihat  the  enemy  were  fi^xhting 
desperately,  behind  entrenchments  which  none 
but  Con(c(leruUi  soldiers  could  successfully 
have  assaulted.  Until  eight  at  night  the 
houses  trembled  at  every  rejmrt  of  cannon, 
and  then  McCK-Uan's  prand  army,  crippled 
and  bleeding,  diaggetl  itself  away,  under  cover 
•f  darkness,  to  the  south  bank  of  the  Chicka- 
hominy.  Saturday  saw  a  temporary  lull  in 
the  iron  storm;  but  the  wounded  continued  to 
arrive,  and  the  devoted  women  of  the  city  rose 
from  their  knees  to  minister  to  the  needs  of 
these  numerous  gutferers.  Sunday  found  our 
troops  f'-ciing  about  the  swamps  for  the  re- 
treating (be;  and  once  more,  late  in  the  after- 
noon, distant  thunder  resounded  from  the 
•everely- contested  field  of  Savage's  Station, 
whence  the  enemy  again  retreated. 

On  Sabbath  morning  Irene  learned  that 
Russell's  command  had  joined  in  the  pursuit; 
and  during  that  day  and  night,  as  the  conflict 
drifted  farther  southward,  and  details  became 
necessarily  more  naeagre,  her  anxiety  increas- 
ed. Continually  hcrlips. moved  in  prayer,  as 
she  glided  from  Electra's  silent  room  to  aid  in 
dressing  the  wounds  of  those  who  had  been 
disabled  for  further  participation  in  the  strife; 
and,  as  Monday  passed  without  the  receipt  of 
tidings  from  Dr.  Arnold,  she  indulged  the  hope 
that  this  day  would  end  the  series  of  butcher- 
ies, and  tliat  Russell  would  escape  uninjured. 
During  Tuesday  morning  Electra  seemed  to 
have  recovered  her  consciousness,  but  in  the 
afternoon  she  relapsed  into  incoherent  mut- 
tering of  "Cuyp,"  "  Correggio,"  "  Titian's 
Bella,"  and  "  my  best,  great  picture  left  in 
Florence." 

Irene  was  sitting  at  her  bedside,  rolling 
bandages,  when  the  sudden,  far-distant,  dull 
boom  of  cannon,  followed  ,by  the  (pTHk  rat- 
tling of  the  window-panes,  gave  intimation 
that  the  long  contest  was  fiercely  renewed. 
Proj)hciic  dread  seized  her;  the  liideous  To- 
Come  scowled  at  her  in  the  ilistance  ;  and,  as 
the  roll  of  clitji  dropped  from  her  fingers,  she 
covered  her  eyes  to  shut  out  the  vision  of 
horror.  The  long  evening  hours  crcjjt  by  in 
mournful  procession — trooping  phantom-shad- 
ows filled  the  room — night  fell  at  last,  an  un- 
heeded flag  of  truce — and  people  stood  in  their 
doors,  at  their  windows,  many  clustered  on  the 


pavements,  listening  in  solemn  silence  to  the 
fiend-like  roar  of  the  fifty  j)ieces  of  artillery 
that,  like  a  fiery  crescent,  crowned  Malvern 
Hill.  A  cotirier  had  arrived  with  intelligene« 
that  here  the  enemy's  forces  were  vory  strong- 
ly posted,  wore  making  desperate  resistance; 
and,  though  no  doubt  of  the  result  was  enter- 
tained, human  nature  groaned  over  the  car- 
nage. 

At  ten  o'clock,  having  given  a  potion,  and 
renewed  the  t'olds  of  wet  linen  6n  Kleetra'i 
head,  Irene  stole  back  to  the  win<low,  and, 
turning  the  shutters,  looked  down  the  street. 
Here  and  thcr?  an  anxious  group  huddled  on 
the  corners,  with  ears  strained  to  catch  every 
sound,  and,  while  she  watched,  a  horseman 
clattered  at  hard  gallop  over  the  paving-stones, 
reined  up  at  the  <loor  of  the  boaniing-house, 
swunii  himself  to  the  sidewalk,  and  an  instant 
after  the  sharp  clang  of  the  bell  rang  sUirtliilg- 
ly  through  the  still  mansion. 

"  Oh,  my  God  !     It  has  come  at  last!" 
Irene  groaned,  and  l-'aned  h.eavily  against 
the  window -facing;  and  (juick  steps  came  «p 
the  stairway — Martha  entered,  and  held  out 
a  slip  of  paper. 

"  .Miss  Irene,  Cyrus  has  just  brought  this." 
Her  mislii's.s'  ii-y  fiuirors  clutched   it,  and 
she  read : 

"  Come  at  once.  Aubrey  is  badly  wounde«l. 
Cyrus  will  show  the  way. 

"HiKAM  Arnold." 

"  You  are  going  to  faint,  Miss  Irene  I  Drink 
some  of  this  cordial !" 

•'  No.  Tell  Antlrcw  to  go  after  the  carriage 
as  quick  as  possible,  and  have  it  brought  hei"* 
imme<liately ;  and  ask  uncle  Eric  to  come  to 
my  room  at  once." 

Irene  went  to  her  own  apartment,  which 
adjoined  Electra's,  put  on  her  bonnet  and  veil, 
and,  though  the  night  was  warm,  wrapped  a 
shawl  about  her. 

Mr.  .Mitchell  entered  soon  after,  and  started 
at  sight  (if  his  niece's  face. 

"  Irene,  what  does  this  mean  ?  Where  are 
you  going  -at  this  hour  ':'" 

"To  tl«e  battle-field!— to  Malvern  Hill. 
Colonel  Aubrey  is  mortally  wounded,  and  I 
must  see  him.  Will  you  go  with  me  V  Oh, 
uncle  Eric  !  if  you  have  any  mercy  in  your 
soul,  ask  me  no  questions  now  !  only  go  with 
me." 

'•  Of  course,  mv  dear  child,  I  will  go  with 
you,  if  it  is  possi\)le  to  procure  a  carriage  of 
any  kind.     I  will  see — ." 

"  I  have  had  one  engaged  fof  three  days. 
Martha,  stay  with  Electra  till  I  come  back; 
leave  her  on  no  account.  If  you  notice  any 
change,  send  for  Dr.  Whitmore.  Here  is  my 
watch  ;  count  her  pulse  carefully,  and  as  long 
as  it  is  over  one  hundred,  give  her,  every  two 
hours,  a  spoonful  of  the  medicine  in  that 
square  vial  on  the  table.  I  trust  to  you,  Mar- 
tha, to  take  care  of  her.     If  she  should  be 


MACARIA. 


177 


rational,  and  ask  for  mo,  tell  lier  nothing  aljout 
the  battles,  and  say  I  have  gone  to  see  a  sick 
man,  and  'will  be^  back  soon.  Come,  uncle 
Eric." 

They  entered  the  close  carriage  which  she 
had  ordered  reserved  for  her,  and  she  called 
Cyrus  to  the  door. 

"  Did  you  see  Colonel  Aubrey  after  he  was 
wounded  V" 

"  I  only  had  a  glimpse  of  him,  as  they 
brought  him  in.  Miss  Irene,  he  was  shot  in 
the  breast." 

"You  know  the  way;  ride^ outside;  and, 
Cyrus,  drive  as  fast  as  possible."  , 

The  night  was  gloomy  and  specfX'^l  as  Sheol, 
and  the  wind  sobbed  a  viiserere  through  the 
sombre  forest*  that  bordered  the  road,  which 
was  now  crowded  with  vehicles  of  aU  descrip- 
tions Ijastening  to  and  ivturning  from  the  field 
of  action.  Under  ordinary  circumstances, 
■  with  no  obstacles  intervening,  it  was  a  long 
ride ;  and  to  Irene  the  wat.«eemed  intermina- 
ble. During  the  fir?t  houi'  Ater  silence  reign- 
ed within  the  carriage,  anvl  then,  as  the  driver 
paused  to  allow  an  ambulance  to  pass,  Eric 
put  his  hand  on  his  aiece's  arm  and  said,  ten- 
derly :  ^      ^ 

"  Irene,  why  did  you  deceire  me  so  long  ? 
Why  could  you  not  trust  your  uncle's  love  V" 

She  shrank  farther  back  in  one  corner,  and 
answered  with  a  voice  which  he  could  scarcely 
recognize  as  hers. 

"  If  you  love  me,  spare  me  all  questions 
now." 

By  .the  glimmer -of  the  carriage -lamps  she 
could  see  the  wagons  going  to  and  fro,  some 
filled  with  empty  coffins,  some  with  mangled 
sulfcrcrs.  Now  and  then  weary,  spentsoldiers 
sat  on  the  roadside,  or  struggled  on  toward 
the  city  which  thoy  had  saved,  with  their  arms 
in  slings,  or  hands  bound  up,  or  bloody  band- 
ages across  their  stern  faces.  Afi^er  another 
hour,  when  the  increasing  number  of  men 
showed  .proximity  to  the  scene  of  danger, 
Cyrus  turne<l  away  from  the  beaten  track, 
and  soon  the  flash  of  lights  and  hum  of  voices 
told  that  they  were  near  the  place  of  destina- 
tion. The  carriage  stopped,  and  Cyrus  came 
to  the  door.  • 

"  We  are  at  the  lines,  and  I  can't  drive  any 
nearer.  If  you  will  wait,  I  will  go  and  find 
Master." 

It  was  one  o'clock  ;  and  as  they  waited,  men 
passed  and  repassed  with  blazing  torches,  some 
bearing  wounded  men,  whose  groans  rose  above 
the  confusion.  The  cannonading  had  long 
since  ceased,  and  Eric  called  to  a  group  of 
soldiers  belonging  to  the  Infirmary  corps. 

"  What  is  the  last  news  from  the  front  ? 
Have  the  enemy  fAJlen  back  ?" 

"  Not  yet ;  but  they  are  getting  ready  to  run 
again,  as  usual.  By  daylight  they  will  be  out  of 
sight,  and  we  shall  be  all  day  to-morrow  hunt- 
ing tfaem  up.  Their  style  is  to  fight  about 
three  hours,  and  run  the  balance  of  the 
12 


twenty-four.     They  take  to  the  swamps  like 
all  other  such  miserable  varments." 

The  delay  seemed  intolerably  long,  and  for  • 
the  first  time  an  audible  moan  escaped  Irene 
just  as  Cyrus  came  back  accompanied  by  a 
muffled  figure. 

"  Irene,  my  child." 

She  leaned  out  till  her  face  nearly  touched 
Dr.  Arnold's. 

"  Only  tell  me  that  he  is  alive,  and  I  can 
bear  all  else." 

"  He  is  alive,  and  sleeping  just  now.  Can 
you  control  yourself  if  I  take  you  to  him  V" 

"  Yes;  you  need  not  fear  that  I  will  disturb 
him.     Let  me  go  to  him." 

He  gave  her  his  arm,  and  led  her  through  the 
drizzling  rain  for  some  distance — avoiding,  as 
much  as  possible,  the  groups  of  wounded, 
where  surgeons  were  at  their  sad  work.  Fi- 
nally, before  a  small  tent,  he  paused,  and 
whispered  : 

"  Nerve  yourself,  dear  child." 

"  Is  there  no  nope  ?' 

She  swept  aside  her  long  mourning  veil,  and 
gazed  imploringly  into  his  face. 

Tears  filled  his  eyes,  and,  hastily  avertin<»^ 
his  head,  he  raised  the  curtain  of  the  tent  and 
drew  her  inside. 

A  candle  burned  dimly  in  one  corner,  and 
there,  on  a  pallet  of  straw,  over  which  a  blan- 
ket had  been  thrown,  lay  the  powerful  form  of 
the  dauntless  leader,  whose  deeds  of  desperate  ' 
daring  had  so  electrified  his  worshippin"-  com- 
mand but  a  few  hours  before.  The  noble 
head  was  pillowed  on  a  knapsack  ;  one  hand 
pressed  his  heart,  while  the  other  drooped 
nerveless  at  his  side,  and  the  breast  of  his 
coat  was  saturated  with  the  blood,  which  at 
intervals  oozed  through  the  bandages  and 
dripped  upon  the  straw.  The  tent  was  silent 
as  a  cemetery,  and  not  a  sound  passed  Ipene's 
white  fixed  lips  as  she  bent  down  and  looked 
upon  the  loved  face,  strangely  beautiful  in  its 
pallid  repose.  The  shadowy  wings  of  the 
bitter  By  -  gone  hovered  no  longer  over  the 
features,  darkening  their  chisellefl  perfection; 
a  tranquil  half-smile  parted  the  lips,  and  un- 
bent the  lines  between  the  finely-arched  black 
brows. 

Sinking  softly  on  the  floor  of  the  tent,  Irene 
rested  her  chin  on  her  folded  hands,  and 
calmly  watched  the  deep  sleep.  So  passed 
three-quarters  of  an  hour;  then,  as  Dr.  Arnold 
cautiously  put  his  fingers  ou  the  pulse,  the 
suflTerer  opened  his  eyes. 

Irene  was  partially  in  the  shade,  but,  as  she 
leaned  forward,  a  sudden,  bewildered  smile 
lighted  his  countenance;  he  started  up,  and 
extended  one  arm.  I 

•'  Irene  !  My  darling  !  Do  I  dream,  or  ar« 
you  indeed  with  me  V" 

"  I  have  come  to  nurse  you,  Russell ;  but  if 
you  do  not  calm  yourself,  the  doctor  will  send 
me  away." 

She  took  the   outstretched   hand   in   both 


178 


MAC  ARIA. 


hers,  and  pressed  her  lips  repeatedly'upon  it, 
«  "  Come  closo  to  me.  I  am  helplcus  now, 
and  «an  not  po  to  you." 

She  lealed  herself  on  the.cd;;e  of  the  straw, ^ 
laid  lier  shawl  in  her  lap,  and  liCtin;;  his  head, 
rertttd  it  on  the  soft  wftollen  folds.  Dr.  Arnold 
removed  the  warm  cloth  soaked  with  blood, 
placed  a  cold,  drippinjf  (owcl  on  the  sjaping 
wound,  and,  after  tii^Iiti'iiing  the  bandages  to 
check  the  hemorrhage,  passed  out  of  the  lent, 
Uaviiiij  the  two  al<>n«.  • 

"  Oh,  Irene  I  this  is  a  joy  I  never  hoped  for. 
I  went  at  night  to  the  hospital  in  Richmond, 
just  to  get  a  glimpse  of  you  —  to  feast  my 
eyes  with  another  sight  of  your  dear,  dear 
face  I  I  watclied 'you  ministering  like  an 
anjjel  to  sick  and  wonudiMl  soldiers,  and  I  en- 
vied them  the  touih  of  your  hand — the  sound 
of  your  voice.  1  little  expected  to  die  in  your 
arms.  This  reconcile*  me  to  my  falc  ;  this 
uomjiensafes  for  all  !"  , 

Her  fingers  tenderly  smoothed  the  black 
locks  that  clunff  to  his  templ#s,  and  bending 
down,  she  kissed  his  forehead.  His  uninjured 
arm  stole  uj)  around  her  neck,  drew  her  lace  to 
his,  and  his  lips  pressed  hers  again  and  again. 

"  Dear  Russell,  you  must  be  quiet,  or  you 
will  e.thaust  yourself.  Try  to  sleep — it  will 
nffresh,  strengthen  you." 

"  Nothing  will  strengthen  me.  I  have  but 
a  short  time  to  live  ;  shall  I  sleep  away  the  op- 
portunity of  my  last  earthly  communion  with 
you,  my  life- long  idol  V  Oh,  Irene  1  my 
beautiful  treasure  !  this  proof  of  your  love 
sweetens  death  itself.  There  have  been  hours 
(even  since  we  parted  a  year  ago),  when  I 
reproached  you  for  the  sorrow  and  pain  you 
Bternly  meted  out  to  me,  and  to  yourself. 
When  I  said  bitterly,  {/she  lovfed  me  as  slve 
should,  she  would  level  all  barriers — she  would 
lay  hj-r  hands  in  mine — glorify  my  name  by 
taking  it  as  my  wife,  and  thus  defy  and  cancel 
the  past.  I  was  selfish  in  my  love ;  I  wanted 
you  in  my  home  ;  I  longed  for  the  soft' touch 
of  your  fingersyfor  your  proud,  dazzling  smile 
of  wtilcome  when  the  day's  work  was  ended; 
for  the  privilege  of  drawing  3'ou  to  my  heart, 
and  listening  to  your  whispei-ed  words  of  en- 
couragement and  fond  congratulation  on  my 
Buccesses.  I  knew  that  this  couKl  never  be  ; 
th^  your  veneration  for  your  father's  memory 
w^ild  separate  us  in  future,  as  in  the  past ; 
that  my  pleadingi  would  not  shake  your  un- 
fortunate and  erroneous  resolution  ;  and  it  was 
hard  to. give  up  the  dearest  hope  that  ever 
brightened  a  lonely  man's  life.  Now  I  know, 
1  feel,  that  your  love  is  strong,  deathless  as 
my  own,  though  l«^ig  locked  deep  in  your 
heart.  I  know  it  by  the  anguish  in  your  i'ace, 
by  the  quiver  of  your  mouth,  by  your  pres- 
ence in  this  place  of  horrors.  God  comfort 
and  bless  you,  my  own  darling! — my  brave, 
patient,  faithful  Irene  I" 

lie  smiled  triumphantly,  and  drew  her  hand 
caressingly  across  his  cheek. 


"Russell,  it  is  useless  now  to  dwell  upon 
our  sorrowful  past;  what  sulferinir  our  separa- 
tion has  cost  me,  none  but  my  (Jod  can  ever 
know.  To  His  hands  I  commit  my  destiny, 
and  '  He  docth  all  things  well.'  in  a  little 
while  you  will'leave  me,  and  then — oh  !  then, 
I  shall  be  utterly  desolate  indued  !  But  I  can 
bear  loneliness — I  can  walk  my  dreary  earth- 
ly path  uncomplainingly,  I  can  give  you  up 
for  the  sake  of  my  country,  if  I  have  th« 
blessed  as.suranee  that  you  have  only  ha>tened 
home  before  me,  waiting  for  m*  there — that, 
saved  through  Christ,  we  shall  soon  meet  in 
Heaven,  and  spend  Kternity  together.  Oh, 
Russell!  CA'\  you  give  me  this  consolation, 
without  which  my  future  will  be  dark  indeed? 
Have  you  kept  your  promise,  to  live  so  that 
you  could  at  last  meet  the  eyes  of  yoiir  (Jod  in 
peace  V  ' 

"  I  have.  I  have  struggled  against  th« 
faults  of  my  charj^^ter  ;  I  have  earnestly  en- 
deavored to  eruslv  ^he  vindictive  feelings  of 
ifiy  heart;  and  I  V*y6  conscientiously  tried  to 
do  my  duty  to  my  fVllow-crealures,  to  my  com- 
mand, and  my  country.  I  have  rea^  the  biblo 
you  gave  mo;  and,  dearest,  in  praying  for  you, 
I  have  learned  to  pray  for  myself.  Through 
Jesus,  I  hav(i  a  sure  hope  of  happiness  beyond 
the  grave.  There,  though  separated  in  lil;% 
you  and  I  shall  be  united  by  death.  0!i. 
Irene  !  but  (or  your  earnest  piety  this  precious 
anticipation  might  never  have  been  mine. 
But  for  you,  I  would  have  forgotten  my  moth- 
er's precepts  and  my  mother's  prayers. 
Through  your  intluence  L  shall  soon  join  her, 
where  the  fierce  waves  of  earthly  trial  can 
lash  my  proud  soul  no  more." 

"  Thank  God  !  Oh,  Russell  !  this  takes 
away  the  intolerable  bitterness  of  parting ; 
this  will  support  lue  in  coming  years.  I  can 
brave  all  things  in  future." 

She  saw  that  a  paroxysm  of  pain  had  seized 
him.  His  brow  wrinkled,  ami  he  bit  his  lips 
hard,  to  suppress  a  groan.  Just  at  this  mo- 
ment Dr.  Arnold  re-entered,  and  immediately 
gave  him  another  potion  of  morphine. 

t'  Aubrey,  you  must  be  cpiiet,  if  you  would 
not  siioite'ii  your  life."' 

He  silently  endured  his  sufTering  for  some 
moments,  and,  raising  his  eyes  again  to  Ircne'sj 
«aid,  in  a  tone  of  exhaustion  : 

."  It  is  sellish  to  make  you  witness  my 
torture  ;  but  I  could  not  bear  to  have  you 
leave  me.  There  is  something  I  want  to  .say 
while  I  have  strength  left.      How  isElecfraV" 

"  Partially  delirious  still,  but  the  doctor 
thinks  she  will  recover.  What  shall  I  tell  her 
for  you  V" 

"  That  I  loved  and  remembered  her  in  my 
dying  hour.  Kiss  her  for  me,  and  tell  h'er  I 
fell  where  the  dead  lay  thickest,  in  a  desper- 
ate charge  on  the  enemy's  batteries  —  that 
none  can  claim  a  nobler,  prouder  death  thau 
mine — that  the  name  of  Aubrey  is  once  more 
glorified — rebaptised  with  my  blood  upon  th^ 


MAC  ARIA. 


i; 


battle-field.  Irene,  she  is  alone/i  t^^c  world  ; 
watch  over  and  love  her,  for  my^ke.  Dactor, 
give  me  sonic  water." 

As  the  hemorrhajje  inere^^l  despite  their, 
efforts  to  staunch  itVhe  becaAi-  rapidly  weak- 
er, and  soon  after,  with  o/  lia»il  locked  in 


Irem^'s,  he  fell  asleep. 
She  sat    motionless, 


littering  no  sound,  kee 
his  upturned  counten 
noiselessly  in  and  ou 
mercy  ;  occasionallv 
soldiers  softly  liftc 
gazed  sadly,  fondl 


portinj;    his  head, 

her  eyes  fixed  on 

Dr.  Arnold  went 

1  various  errands  of 

ious,  weather-beaten 

le  curtain  of  the  tent, 

the  prostrate  figure  of 


the   beloved   oon/a" J«r,  and   turned   away 

ftilcntlv,    with    J^'s     trickling    down    their 

bronzed  faces,  /nlowly  the  night  waned,  and 

the  shrill  tone/^*^  reveille  told   that  another 

day  had  riseiy'^'*ore  the  murky  sky  brighten- 
ed.    Hundr/**!  '^bo  had   sprung  up  at  that 

call  twenty/""'  hours  ago,  now  lay  stiffening 

in  their  "cfii  sleeping   their  last  sleep,  where 

neither  d^  sound  of  fife   and  drum,  nor  the 

battle-ci/o^f'omrades,  would  ever  rouse  them 

from   tl^i"   fi"'"^'  ^6st  before  Malvern   Hill — 

orer  Vich  winds  wailed  a  requiem,  and  trail- 

in<T  tl^PP'"?  clouds  settled  like  a  pall. 

Tie  bustle  and  stir  of  camp  increased  as 

pre/v'  ations  were  made  to  follow  the  foe,  who 

}ia/ again  taken  up  the  line  of  retreat;  but 

TOfliin  the  tent  unbroken  silence  reigned.     It 

(4is  apparent  that  Russell  was  siuking  fast, 
(nd  at  eight  o'clock  he  awoke,  looked  uneasily 
''around  him,  and  said-,  feebly  : 
"  What  is  going  ou  in  front  ?" 
"McClellan   has  evacuated   Malvern   Hill, 
and    is  in  full   retreat  toward  his  gunboats," 
answered  the  doctor. 

"  Then'there  will  be  no  more  fighting.     My 
shattered   regiment  will   rest    for   a    season. 
Podr  fellows  !   they  did  their  duty  nobly  yes- 
terday.    Tell  my  men  for  me  that  I  am  ine.x-  1 
pressibly   proud  of  their   bravery   and   their  ! 
daring,  and  that  though  my  heart  clings  fond-  i 

ly  to  my  gallant  regiment,  I  glory  in  the  death  |  was  the  idol  of  my  childhood !  and  girlhood  ! 
I  die — knowing  that  my   soldiers  will   avenge  ^  and  womanhood  !     Oh  !  pray  for  mc — that  I 


across  them.  Dr.  Arnold  put  his  band  over 
the  heart  —  no  pulsation  greeted  him;  and 
tui'ning  away,  the  old  man  covered  his  face 
with  his  handkerchief. 

"  Russell,  speak  to  me  once  more." 
There  was  no  sound — no  motion.  She  knew 
then  that  the.  soldier's  .spirit  had  soared  to  the 
shores  of  Everlasting  Peace,  and  that  not  until 
she  joined  him  there  would  the  loved  tones 
again  make  music  in  her  heart.  She  tightened 
her  :arms  around  the  still  form,  and  nestled 
her  cheek  closer  to  his,  now  growing  cold. 
No  burst  of  grief  escaped  her,  to  tell  of  agony 
and  despair: 

"  But  like  a  statue  solid  set. 
Anil  moulded  in  colossal  calm," 

she  sat,  mute  and  resigned,  at  the  foot  of 
the  Red  Dripping  Altar  of  Patriofism,  whore 
lay,  in  tallowed  Sacrifice,  her  noble,  darling 
Dead. 

In  the  morning  light  her  face  looked  rigid, 
pallid  as  his,  and  the  tearless  but  indescrib- 
ably mournful  eyes  were  riveted  on  his  placid, 
handsome  features.  Eric  and  Harvey  Young 
stood  in  one  corner  of  the  tent,  wining  away 
tears  which  would  not  be  restrained  ;  and 
•finally  Dr.  Arnold  Htooped  and  said,  faltcr- 
ingly :  _  " 

"  My  dear  child,  come  with  me  now." 

She  did  not  seem  to  hear  him,  and  he  re- 
peated his  words,  trying,  at  the  same  time, 
to  unwind  her  arms. 

She  yielded,  and  with  her  own  hands 
smoothed  out  and  cut  a  lock  of  hair  that 
Ivaved  over  his  gleaming  forehead. 

Leaning  over  him,  she  kissed  the  icy  lips; 
then  rose,  and,  clasping  her  hands,  murmured  : 

"  Farewell,  my  own  brave  Russell !" 

The  minister  approached,  and  stood  before 
her.  Sh'e  lifted  her  wan  dry  face,  and,  as  she 
put  out  her  arms  to  him,  a  wintry  smile  flitted 
over  the  mouth  that  had  seemed  frozen. 

"  Harvey  !  Harvey  !    he  was  my  all !     He 


me.  Give  my  love  to  one  and  all,  and  tell 
them,  when  next  they  go  into  battle,  to  re- 
member him  who  led  their  last  charge.  I 
should  like  to  have  seen  the  end  of  the  strug- 
gle— but  Thy  will,  oh,  my  God  !  not  mine.'" 
lie  lifted    his   eyeg    toward   Heaven,   and 


may    be   patient  and   stroug    in    my    great 
desolation."  « 

*  *  •  *  « 

,  Electra's  speedy  convalescence  repaid  the 
care  bestowed  upon  her ;  and  one  afternoon, 
ten  days  after  quiet   had  again  settled  around 


for  some  moments  his  lips  moved  inaudibly  in  j  tbe  Confederate  capital,  nhe  insisted  on  being 
pr^jyer.      Gradually    a    trantpiil    expression  [  allowed  to  lit  up  later  than  usual,  protesting 


settled  on  his  features,  and  as  his  eyes  closed 
again  he  murinured,  faintly  : 

"Irene — riarling — rai.se  me  a  little." 

They  lifted  him,  and  rested  bis  head  against 
^r  shoulder. 
'.-"  Irene!" 

•*  I  am  here,  Russell ;  ray  arms  arc  around 
yon." 

She  laid  her  check  on  his,  and  listened 
to  catch  the  words;  but  none  came.  The  lipa 
parted  once,  and  a  soft  fluttering  breath  ewept  i  back  the  artist's  shining  hair. 


that  she  woufd  no  longer  be  regarded  as  an  in- 
valid. 

"  Irene,  stand  in  the  light,  where  I  can  see 
you  fully.  How  Avorn  and  weary  you  look  I 
I  suspect  I  am  regaining  my  health  at  the 
exp^n.se  of  yours." 

"  No ;  I  am  as  well  in  body  as  I  could 
desire  ;  but,  no  doubt,  ray  anxiety  has  left  its 
traces  on  my  countenance." 

She  leaned  over.Electra's  chair,  afid  Stroked 


180 


MACARIA. 


"  I  wish  you  would  l&t  me  see  the  papers. 
My  eyes  are  stronp  enough  now,  and  I  want 
to  know  exactly  what  has  taken  place  every- 
where during  my  sickness.  It  seems  to  me 
impossible  that  General  Lee's  army  can  face 
McClellan's  much  longer  without  bringing  on 
a  battle,  and  I  am  so  anxious  about  Russell. 
If  he  should  be  hurt,  of  course  I  must  go  to 
him.  It  is  very  strange  that  he  has  not  writ- 
ten. Are  you  sure  no  letters  came  for  me  V" 
,  .  "  There  are  no  letters,  I  am  sure ;  but  I 
have  a  message  for  you.  I  have  seen  him 
once  since  you  were  taken  sick." 

"  Ah  !  what  is  it  ?  He  heard  that  I  was  ill, 
and  came  to  see  me,  I  suppose.  When  was 
he  here?" 

Irene  bent  down  and  kissed  her  companion 
tremulously,  saying,  slowly  : 

'*  He  desired  me  to  kiss  yoii  fpr  him.  Elec- 
tra,  I  have  not  told  you  before,  because  I 
feared  the  effect  upon  you  in  your  weak  state  ; 
but  there  have  been  desperate  battles  around 
Richmond  during  your  illness,  and  the  Feder- 
als have  been  defeated — driven  back  to  James 
river." 

"  Was  Russell  wounded  ?  Yes — I  under- 
stand it  all  now  !  Where  is  he  ?  Oh  !  tell 
me  !  that  I  may  go  to  him." 

She  sprang  up.  bu^a  death-like  pallor  over- 
spread her  face,  and  she  tottered  to  the  "open 
window. 

•  Irene  followed  the  thin  figure,  and,  putting 
her  arms  about  her,  made  her  lean  against 
her. 

"  H»  was  wounded  on  the  last  day,  and  I 
went  to  see  him  ;  you  were  then  delirious." 

"Let  me  go  at  once-!  I  will  not  disturb 
Urn;  I  will  control  myself  I  Only  let  me  see 
him  to-day  I" 

"  Electra,  you  can  not  see  him.  He  has 
gone  to  his  God  ;  but  in  his  dying  hour  he 
spoke  of  youfondly,  senb  love,  and — ." 

The  form  reeled,  drooped,  shivered,  and  fell 
back  insensible  in  Irene's  arms. 

So  heavy  was  tlie  swoon,  that  it  seemed  as 
if  her  spirit  had  ll«d  to  join  her  cousin's  in 
endless  union  ;  but  at  length  consciousness  re- 
■  turned,  and  witli  it  came  the  woful  realization 
of  her  loss.  A  long,  low  wail  rose  and  fell 
upon  the  aii-,  like  the  cry  from  lips  of  feeble, 
suil'ering,  helj)less  children,  and  her  head  sank 
upon  the  shoulder  of  the  sad -faced  nurse, 
whose  grief  could  find  no  expression  in  sobs,  or 
moans,  or  tears. 

"  Dead  !  dead  !  and  I  shall  see  his  dear 
face  no  more  !  Oh  !  why  did  you  not  let  me 
die,  too  V  What  's  my  wretched  life  worth 
now  V  One  jtrave  might  have  held  us  both  1 
My  noble,  ])eerless  Russell  !  the  light  of  my 
solitary  life  I  OK,  God  !  be  merciful !  take  me 
with  my  idol !     Take  me  now  !" 

Very  tenderly  and  caressingly  Irene  en- 
deavored to  soothe  her — detailed  the  circum- 
stances of. her  cousin's  death,  and  pointed  her 
dcspairing^  soul  to  a  final  reunion. 


I  Bui  no  hft  appeared  in  the  artist's  black 
I  sky  of  sorrow;  gi^e  had  not  vet  learned  that,  in 
I  drawing  near  the  hand  that  holds  the  rod.  the 
I  blow  is  lightened;  and  she  bitterly  demanded 
j  of  her  Maker  tc  be  leleaaed  from  the  burden 
of  life. 

"  Llectra,  hush vour passionate  cries!  crush 
back  your  rebellous  words.  Your  Beart 
knows  no  depth  cf  agony  which  mine  has 
not  sounded;  and  vet,  in  this  season  of 
anguish,  when  Russel  is  taken  from  us  both, 
I  look  upon  his  grave,  tnd  feel  that, 

lim  gtroiiR. 

Knowing  ye  are  not  lost  for  »>.  amuni; 

The  bills,  with  last  year's  tbriis,.    God  keens  a  iiicho 

In  Iluavcn.  to  hold  our  idols:  ai|  albeit 

■III!  bnike  them  to  our  fnces.  and'enied 

That  iiur  close  kisses  should  impa^  their  white 

I  know  we  shall  behold  them  raisq   couipk-te 

The  dust  swept  from  their  bonufy — ^.toriKod 

New  MemuoDS,  singing  in  the  great  V>d-ligbt  I  " 


CHAPTER  XXXVL 

The  sunlight  of  a  warm  spring  d.v  fl;\shed 
through  the  open  window,  ayd  mau  .rolden 
arabes(jue  tracery  on  the  walls  and  jirtraits 
of  the  parlor  at  Iliftitingdon  Hill.     Th.  cost- 
ly crimson   damask   curtains   had  long  jjnce 
been  cut  into  shirts  for  the  soldiers,  and  trans- 
ported   to  the  Army   of  Tennessee,    and^ir 
and    sunshine   entered    unimpeded.     Eleci-a 
sat  before  her  canvas  in  this  room,  absorbel 
in    the    design    which    now     engaged    every 
thought.     The  witchery  of  her  profession  had 
woven  its  spell  about  her  banishing  for  a  time 
the  spectral  Past. 

The  extension  of  the  Conscription  statute 
had,  several  months  before,  deprived  Irene  of 
a  valued  and  trusty  overseer ;  and  to  satisfy 
herself  concerning  the  character  of  his  succes- 
sor, and  the  condition  of  affairs  at  home,  she 
and  her  uncle  had  returned  to  W ,  bring- 
ing Electra  with  them. 

Irene  stood  on  the  colonnade,  leaning  over 
the  back  of  ICrlc  Mitchell's  arm-chair,  drop- 
l)ing  t;ruml)s  for  the  pigeons  that  cooed  and 
scrambled  at  her  feet,  and  looking  dreamify 
down  the  avenue  at  the  baml  of  orj)!ians  ^/ho 
had  just  ])aid  her  a  visit,  and  were  returning 
to  the  asylum,  convoyed  by  the  matron. 

"What  cDutented-looking,  merry  little  chil- 
dren those  are,"  said  her  uncle,  watching  the 
small  figures  diminish  as  they  threaded  the 
avenue. 

"  Yes ;  they  are  as  happy  as  orphans  possi- 
bly can  be.  I  love  to  look  into  their  smiling, 
rosy  faces,  and  feel  their  dimpled  hands  steal 
timidly  into  mine.  But,  uncle.  Dr.  Arnold 
has  finished  his  nap,  and  is  waiting  for  you." 

She  gave  him  her  arm  to  the  library -door, 
saw  him  seated  comfortably  at  the  table, 
where  the  doctor  was  examining  a  mass  of 
papers,  then  joined  Electra  in  the  parlor. 

'■  What  progress  are  you  making,  Electra?" 


MACARIA. 


181 


ery  little.  I  can't  work  well  to-day. 
in  says  that  no  artist  has  fully  grasped  or 
red  his  subject  who  can  not.quit  one  por- 
of"  it  at  any  moment,  and  proceed  to  the 
pletion  of  some  other  part.  Doubtless  he 
orrect ;  but  I  am  so  haunted  by  those  blue 
a  that  I  can  paint  nothing  cIsq.  this  after- 
n.  Do  you  recognize  them?  Yours,  Irene, 
rgive  me ;  but  I  can  find  no  others,  in  im- 
jination  or  in  lile,  that  so  fully  express  seren- 
Aly  work  has  taken  marvellous  hold 
on  me;  sleeping  or  waking,  it  follows,  pos- 
fisses  me.  I  shall  not  hurry  myself;  I  intend 
nat  the  execution  shall  be  ecjual  to  my  ideal — 
ind  that  ideal  entirely  worthy  of  the  theme.  I 
\  want  to  lay  my  "  Modern  Macaria"  as  the 
'/first  ofl'ering  of  Southern  Art,  upon  my  coun- 
/try's  altar,  as  a  nucleus  around  jvhich  nobler 
''and  grander  pictures,  from  the  hands  of  my 
countrymen  and  women,  shall  cluster.  In 
sunny  climes  like  ours,  my  glorious  Art  liad 
its  birth,  its  novitiate,  its  apotheosis  ;  and  who 
dare  say  that  future  ages  shall  not  find  Art- 
students  from  all  nations  pressing,  like  pil- 
grims, to  the  Perfected  School  of  the  Southern 
States  ?  Ancient  republics  oflered  premiums, 
and  saw  the  acme  of  the  arts ;  why  not  our 
Confederate  republic,  when  days  of  national 
prosperity  dawn  upon  ns  V  If  the  legisla- 
ture of*!ach  state  would  annually  purchase, 
for  the  embellishment  of  the  galleries  and 
grounds  of  its  capital,  the  best  picture  or 
statue  produced  within  its  borders  during  the 
twelvemonths,  a  generous  emulatioa  would 
be  encouraged.  Our  marble- hearted  land 
will  furnish  materials,  which  Southern  genius 
can  mould  into  monuments  of  imperishable 
beauty.  This  war  furnishes  instances  of  he- 
roism before  which  all  other  records  pale, 
and  our  Poets,  Sculptors,  and  Painters  have 
only  to  look  around  them  for  subjects  which 
Greek  or  Italian  Art  would  glorify  and  im- 
mortalize. 

'"  I  do  distrust  the  poofwho  discerns 
No  cliariicter  or  glory  in  his  times, 
And  trundles  hack  his  soul  five  hundred  years.'  " 

*  "  Our  resources  are  inexhaustible,  our  capa- 
bilities as  a  people  unlimited,  and  we  retjuire 
'  only  the  fostering  influences  which  Cosmo  De 
Medici  and  Xiccolo  Niccoli  exerted  in  Flor- 
ence, to  call  into  action  energies  and  latent 
talents  of  which  wc  are,  as  yet,  scarcely  con- 
scious. Such  patrons  o^  Aj*t  ^d  Literature  I 
hope  to  find  in  the  planters  of  the  Confedera- 
cy. They  have  wealth,  leisure,  and  evcrv  re- 
(}uisite  adjunct,  and  upon  them,  as  a  class, 
must  devolve  this  labor  of  love  —  the  accom- 
plishment of  an  American  Renaissance — fhe 
development  of  the  slumbering  genius  of  our 
land.  IJurke  has  remarked:  'Nobility  is  a 
graceful  ornament  to  the  civiforder ;  it  is  the 
('orinthian  capital  of  polished  society."  Cer- 
tainly Southern  planters  possess  all  the  de- 
ments of  this  higiiest  order  of  social  architec- 


ture, and  upon  their  correct  appreciation  ot 
the  grave  responsibility  attending  their  wealth 
and  influence  depends,  in  great  degree,  our 
emancipation  from  the  gross  utilitarianism 
which  has  hitherto  characterized  us,  and  our 
progress  in  refinement  and  ajsthetic  culture. 
As  We  are  distinct,  socially  and  politically, 
from  other  nations,  so  let  us  be,  intellectually 
and  artistically.  The  world  has  turned  its 
back  upon  us  in  our  grapple  with  tyranny; 
and,  in  the  hour  of  our  triumph,  let  us  not  for- 
get that,  as  we  won  Independence  without  aid 
or  sympathy,  so  we  can  maintain  it  in  all  de- 
partments." 

"  Electra,  in  order  to  effect  this  '  consum- 
mation devoutly  to  be  wished,'  it  is  necessary 
that  the  primary  branches  of  Art  should  be 
popularized,  and  thrown  open  to  the  masses. 
Mill  contends,  in  his  Political  Economy,  that 
the  remuneration  of  the  peculiar  emj)loyments 
of  women  is  always  far  below  that  of  employ- 
ments of  equal  skill  carried  on  by  niQn,  and 
he  finds  an  explanation  in  the  fact  that  they 
are  overstocked.  Hence,  in  improving  the 
condition  of  women,  it  is  advisable  to  give 
them  the  readiest  access  to  independent  in- 
dustrial pursuits,  and  extend  the  circle  of 
their  appropriate  occupations.  Our  Revolu- 
tion has  beggaiy  thousands,  and  deprived 
many  of  their  natural  providers ;  numbers 
of  women  in  the  Confederacy  will  be  thrown 
entirely  upon  their  own  resources  for  main- 
tenance. AH  can  not  be  mantua- makers, 
milliners,  or  school-teachers;  and  in  order  to 
open  for  them  new  avenues  of  support,  T  have 

determined  to  establish,  in  W ,  a  School 

of  Design  for  women — similar  in  plan,  though 
moif  extensive,  than  that  founded  some  years 
ago  by  Mrs.  Peter,  of  Philadelphia.  The  up- 
per portion  of  the  bViilding  will  be  arranged 
for  drawing  classes,  wood  -  engraving,  and  the 
various  branches  of  Design ;  and  the  lower, 
corresponding  in  size  and  general  appearance, 
I  intend  for  a  circulating  library  for  our 
county.  Over  that  School  of  Design  I 
want  you  to  preside  ;  your  talents,  your  educa- 
tion, your  devotion  to,  your  Art  fit  you  pecw- 
.liarly  for  the  position.  The  salary  shall  be 
such  as  to  compensate  you  for  yoyr  .services ; 
and,  when  calmer  days  dawn  upon  us,  we 
may  be  able  t«  secure  some  very  valuable 
lecturers  among  our  gentlemen  -  artists.  I 
have  a  large  lot  on  the  corner  of  Pine  street 
and  Huntingdon  avenue,  opposite  the  court- 
house, which  will  be  a  fine  location  for  it,  and 
I  wish  to  appropriate  it  to  this  purpose. 
While  you  are  adorning  the  interior  of  the 
building,  the  walls  of  which  are  to  contain 
frescoes  of  some  of  the  most  impressive  scenes 
of  our  Revolution,  I  will  embellish  the  grounds 
in  front,  and  make  them  my  special  charge. 
I  understand  the  cultivation  of  flowers,  though 
the  gift  of  painting  them  is  denied  me.  Yes- 
terday I  Fold  my  diamonds  for  a  much  larger 
amount  than  I  supposed  they  would  command, 


182 


MACARIA. 


find  this  sum,  added  to  other  funds  now  at  mj 
dii^posal,  will  enable  me  to  accomplish  the 
scheme.  Dr.  Arnold  and  uncle  Lric  cor- 
dially approve  my  ])lan,  will  aid  me  very 
liberally,  and  a?  soon  as  lran(|uillity  is  restored 
1  shall  succeed  in  erectinj;;  the  building^ with- 
out applying  to  any  one  else  for  assistance. 
When  your  picture  is  finished,  I  wish  you 
to  make  me  a  copy  to  be  hung  up  in  our 
School  of  Design,  that  the  students  may  be 
constantly  reminded  of  tiie  debt  of  gratitude 
we  owe  our  armies.  How  life-like  your  figures 
grow  ;  I  can  almost  .see  the  nuiver  of  that  wife's 
white  lips  and  hear  the  dismal  howling  of 
the  dead  man's  dog." 

The  canvas,  which  she  leaned  forward  to 
insjject  more  closely,  contained  an  allegorical 
design  representing,  in  the  foreground,  two 
female  ^gures.  One  stern,  yet  noble-featured, 
crowned  with  stars — triumph  and  exultation 
flashing  in  the  luminous  eyes  ;  Indep<indence, 
crimson-mantled,  grasping  the  Confederate 
Banner  of  the  Cross,  whose  victorious  folds 
Rtreanjcd  above  a  captured  battery,  where 
a  Federal  flag  trailed  in  the  dust.  At  her 
side  stood  white -robed,  angelic  Peace,  with 
one  hand  over  the  touchhole  of  the  cannon 
against  wh'u.'h  she  leaned,  and  the  other  ex- 
tended in  benediction.  Vividly  the  faces 
contrasted — one  all  athrob  with  national  pride, 
beaming  with  brilliant  destiny ;  the  other 
wonderfully  serene  and  holy.  In  the  distance, 
gleaming  in  the  evening  light  which  streamed 
from  the  West,  tents  dotted  a  hill -side;  and, 
intermediate  ber^veen  Peace  and  tlie  glittering 
tents,  stretched,  a  torn,  stained  battle  -  fiefd, 
over  which  the  roar  and  rush  of  conflict  had 
just  swept,  leaving  mangled  heaps  of  de^l  in 
attestation  of  its  fury.  Among  the  trampled, 
bloody  sheaves  oi  wheat,  an  aged,  infirm 
Niobe- mother  bent  in-  tearless  anguish, 
pressing  her  hand  upon  the  pulseless  heart  of 
a  handsome  boy  of  si.xteen  summers,  whose 
yellow  locks  were  dabbled  from  his  death 
wound.  A  few  steps  farther,  a  lotcly  young 
Wife,  kneeling  beside  tbc  stalwart,  rigid  Conn 
of  her  Husband,  whose  icy  fingers  still  clutched 
his  broken  sword,  lifted  her  woful,  ashen  face 
to  Heaven  in  mute  despair,  while  the  fair- 
browed  infant  on  the  ground  beside  her 
dipped  its  little  snowy,  dlm])led  feet  in  a  pool  of 
its  father's  blood,  and,  with  tears  of  terror  still 
glistening  on  its  chi;eks,  laughed  at  the  scarlet 
coloring.  Just  beyond  these  mourners,  a  girl 
of  surpassing  beauty,  whose  black  hair  floated 
like  a  sable  oanner  on  the  breeze,  clasped  her 
roundiid  arms  about  her  dead  patriot  Lover, 
and  kept  her  sad  vigil  in  voiceless  agony — 
with  all  of  Sjjarta's  stern  stoicism  in  her  blanch- 
ed, stony  countenance.  And,  last  of  the  strick- 
en groups,  a  faithful  dog,  crouching  close  to  the 
corpse  of  an  olil  silver-haired  man,  threw  back 
his  head  and  howled  in  desolation.  Neither 
blue  shadows,  nor  wreathing,  rosy  mists,  nor 
golden   haze    of   sunset  glory,  softened    the 


sacrificial  scene,  which  showed  its  gr^^- 
tures  strangely  solemn  in  the  weird,  ,,^ 
crepusiular  light. 

"  How  many  months  do  you  suppose  iH 
Require  to  complete  it  ?"  asked  Irene.  ^^ 
interest  in  the  picture  was  scarcely  in)i 
to  that  of  its  creator. 

"  If  I  work  steadily  upon  it,  I  can  soon  n^ 
it ;  but  if  I  go  with  you  to  a  Tennessee  hosp^ 
I  must,  of  course,  leave  it  here  until  the  p 
ends.     After  all,  Irene,  the  joy  of  success  C| 
not    eiiual    that   which    attends    the    pati, 
working.     Perhaps  it  is  because  '  anticipat    \ 
is   the   purest  part  of  pleasure.'     I  love  i   \ 
work  ;   no  man  or  woman  ever  loved  it  bettc 
and  yet  there  is  a  painful  feeling  of  "isolatio, 
of  loneliness,  which  steals  over  me  sometime 
and  chills  all  my  enthusiasm.      It  is  so  mourn- 
ful to  know  that,  when  the  labor  is  ended,  and 
a  new  chaplet  encircles  my  brow,  I  shall  have 
no  one  but  you  to  whom  I  can  turn  for  sympa- 
thy in  my  triumph.     If  I  feel  this  so  keenly 
now,  how  shall  I  bear  it  when  the  glow  of  life 
fades    into   sober   twilight  shadows,  and   ago 


creeps  upon  me  ? 

"  '0  ni.T  God  I  my  God  ! 
0  suiiienio  AvOst,  wlio  iw  solo  return 
Korull  ttie  cosmic  womler  ul'Thy  work, 
DcinaiKiest  of  us  j».sl  a  wonl — a  nnmo. 
'  Mr  fatliur!' — tIio\i  liiist  kiiowle<lp;p — only  tliou, 
I  lluw  dreary  't  is  for  woiihmi  to  sit  still 

nil  winter  nights  liy  solitary  (ires. 
And  lifiir  tlio  nutiuns  praising  theui  far  off, 
Too  far  !'" 

She  threw  down  her  brush  and  palette,  and, 
turning  toward  her  comi)anion,  leaned  her 
purplish  head  against  her. 

'*  Elcctra,  it  is  very  true  that  single  women 
have  trials  for  Avhich  a  thouixhtltiss,  happy 
world  has  little  sympathy.  But  lonely  lives 
are  not  necessarily  joyless  ;  they  should  be,  of 
all  others,  most  useful.  The  head  of  a  hoirse- 
hold,  a  wife  and  mother,  is  occupied  with 
family  cares  and  afl'ections — can  find  little 
time  for  considering  the  comtbrt,  or  contribut- 
ing to  the  enjoyment  of  any  beyond  theliome- 
eivcle.  Doubtless  she  is  happier,  far  happier, 
tiian  the  unmarried  woman;  but  to  tlie  last 
belongs  tlie  ])rivilege  of  carrying  light  anj^ 
blessings  to  many  firesides — of  being  the  friend 
and  helper  of  hundreds;  and  because  she  be-, 
longs  exclusively  to  no  one,  her  hi'art  expands 
to  all  her  sullering  fellow -creatures.  In 
my  childiiood  I  always  thought  of  Old -Maids 
with  a  sensation  of  contempt  and  repulsion  ; 
now  I  regard  those  among  them  who  preserve 
their  natures  from  cynicism  and  querulousness, 
and  prove  themselves  .social  evangels  of  mercy, 
as  an  unciowned  host  of  martyrs.  Klec^ra, 
rc'member  other  words  of  the  same  vigorous, 
gifted  womfin  whom  you  so  often  cjuote  : 

'"And  HJnci'  we   ueedH   must  hunger — bettor,   for  miui'ii 
love,  , 

Than  God's  truth  !  bettor,  for  eonipnnion  sweat, 
Than  ^I'-^it  convictions!  lot  us  bear  out  woiglits, 
rreferrinjc  dreary  hearths  to  desert  souls  1' 

"  Remember  that  the  woman  who  dares  to 


MACARTA. 


183 


live  alone,  and  be  sneered  at,  is  braver,  and 
nobler,  and  butter  than  she  who  esi'apes  both 
in  a  loveless  marvia<re.  It  is  true  that  j-ou  and 
I  are  very  lonely,  and  yet  our  future  holds 
much  that  is  briglit.  You  have  tlie  profession 
you  love  so  well,  and  our  new  School  of  Design, 
to  engage  your  thoughts;  and  I  a  thousand 
claims  on  my  time  and  attention.  I  have 
uncle  Eric  to  take  cai'e  of  and  to  love ;  and  Dr. 
Arnolil,  wlio  is  growiHg  quite  infirm,  has 
promised  me  tliat,  as  soon  as  he  can  be  spared 
from  the  hospitals,  he  will  make  his  honte  with 
us.  When  this  storm  of  war  has  spent  itself, 
your  uncle's  family  will  return  from  Europe 
anJ reside  here  with  you.     Harvey,  too,  will 

come  to  W to  live — will  probably  take 

charge  of  Mr.  Campbell's  church — and  we  shall 
have  the  pleasure  and  benefit  of  his  constant 
counsel.  If  I  could  see  you  a  member  of  that 
church  I  should  be  better  satisfied  —  and  you 
would  be  hap])icr." 

"  I  woulil  join  to-morrow,  if  thereby  I  could 
acquire  your  sublime  faith,  and  strength,  and 
resignation.  Oh,  Irene  !  my  friend  and  com- 
forter !  I  want  to  live  dillerently  in  future. 
Once  I  was  wedded  to  life  and  my  Art-*— pre- 
eminence in  my  profession,  fame,  was  all  that 
I  cared  to  attain  ;  now  I  desire  to  spend  my 
remaining  years  so  that  I  may  meet  Klissell 
beyond  the  grave.  His  death  broke  the  ties 
that  bound  me  to  this  world  ;  I  live  now  in 
hope  of  reunion  in  (xod's  eternal  kingdom.  I 
have  been  selfish,  and  careless,  and  complain- 
ing ;  but,  oh  !  I  want  to  do  my  whole  duty 
henceforth.  Irene,  my  calm,  sweet,  patient 
guide,  teach  me  to  be  more  like  you." 

"  Electra,  take  Christ  for  your  model,  in- 
stead of  an  erring  human  being  like  youi-self, 
constantly  falling  short  of  her  owii  duty. 
AVith  Harvey  to  direct  us,  we  ought  fo  accom- 
plish a  worlcl  of  good,  here  in  sight  of  Russell's 
grave.  Chc'r  up  !  God's  great  vineyard 
stretches  before  us,  calling  for  laborers.  Hand 
in  hand,  we  will  go  in  and  work  till  evening 
shades  close  over  us;  then  liftu.p,in  tokenofour 
faithfulness,  rich  ripe  clusters  of  purple  fruit- 
Rgc.  You  and  I  haTe  much  to  do,  during 
these  daysof  gloom  and  national  trial — for  upon 
the  purity,  the  devotion,  and  the  patriotism  of 
the^vomcn  of  our  land,  not  less  than  upon  the 
.heroism  of  our  armies,  depends  our  national 
salvation.  To  jealously  guard  our  homes  and 
social  circles  from  the  inroads  of  corru[)tion, 
to  keep  the  fires  of  patriotism  burning  ui)on 
the  altars  of  the   South,  to  sustain  and  en- 


courage those  who  are  wrestling  along  the 
border  for  our  birthright  of  freedom,  is  the 
consecrated  work  to  which  we  are  called;  and 
beyond  this  bloody  baptism  open  vistas  of  life- 
long usefulness,  when  the  reign  of  wronfr  and 
tyranny  is  ended,  when  the  roar  of  battle,  the. 
blast  of  bugle,  and  beat  of  drum  is  hushed 
among  our  hills,'  and  Peace !  blessed  Peace  !  ' 
again  makes  her  abode  in  our  smiling,  flowery 
valleys.  Hasten  the  hour,  oh  I  my  God ! 
when  her  white  wings  shall  hover  over  lis 
once  more  !" 

The  eyes  of  the  artist  went  back  to  the 
.stainless  robes  and  seraphic  far-e  of  her  pictured 
Peace  in  the  loved-  "Modern  IMacaria,"  and,  as 
she  resumed  her  work,  her  brow  cleared,  the 
countenance  kindled  as  in  days  of  yore,  bitter 
memories  hushed  their  moans  and  fell  asleep 
at  the  wizard  touch  of  her  j)rofcssion,  and  the 
stormy,  stricken  soul  found  balm  and  rest  in 
Heaven-appointed  Labor. 

Standing  at  the  back  of  Electra's  chair, 
with  one  hand  resting  on  her  .s]ioulder,  Irene 
rciised  her  holy  violet  eyes,  and  looked  through 
the  window  toward  the  cemetery, ;where  glit- 
tered a  tall  marble  shaft  which  the  citizens  of 
W ha<l  erected  over  the  last  quiet  rest- 
ing-place of  Russell  Aubrey.  Sands  of  Time 
w«re  drifting  stealthily  around  the  crumbling 
idols  of  the  morning  of  life,  levelling  and  ten- 
dei'ly  shrouding  the  Past,  but  sorrow  left  its 
softening  shadow  on  the  orphan's  countenance, 
and  laid  its  chastening  finger  about  the  lips 
which  meel^-  murmured:  "Thy  will  be 
done."  The  rays  of  the  setting  sun  gilded  her 
mourning -dress,  gleamed  in  the  white  roses 
that  breathed  their  perfume  in  her  rippling 
hair,  and  lingered  like  a  benediction  on  the 
placid,  pure  face  of  the  lonely  woman  who  had 
survived  every  earthly  hope;  ami  who,  calmly 
fronting  her  Altars  of  Sacrifice,  here  dedicated 
herself  anew  to  the  hallowed  work  of  pro- 
moting the  happiness  and  gladdening,  the 
paths  of  all  who  journeyed  with  her  down 
the  chequered  aisles  of  Time. 

"  RiBe.  woman,  rise! 
To  thy  peculiar  and  liest  altituiioa 
of  (loiiiK  goriil  and  <if  endurinj;  ill. 
Of  comforting  for  ill,  and  teaching  good, 
And  rcconcilinf;  all  that  ill  and  good 
Unto  the  patience  of  a  constant  hope. 

Henceforward,  rise.  aHpire, 

To  all  thefcalms  and  magnanimitiei^, 
The  lofty  118PS  and  the  nolile  cndH. 
The  Bsnctiticd  devotion  and  full  work. 
To  which  thou  art  elect  for  evernidrei" 


THE    END, 


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